


Empty

by AkiieLoo (orphan_account)



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Consequences, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sex, Emotional Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Pain, Self-Worth Issues, Spirits, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 81,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AkiieLoo
Summary: Sam is empty. He has been empty for as long as he could remember. He asks to many questions because he just doesn’t know anything. When he wakes up in the Murder House with a old woman sitting next to him, he immediately latches onto her. She takes him under her arm as a son, and tries to teach him the ways of the manor. However, there are shadows in this house. Dark shadows that Sam is just starting to learn about. His curiosity peeked when he meets a strange boy, by the name of Tate. As they grow closer, Sam begins to discover the hidden secrets of the house, himself and Tate.
Relationships: Ben Harmon/Vivien Harmon, Patrick/Chad Warwick, Tate Langdon/Original Character, Tate Langdon/Original Male Character(s), Tate Langdon/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	1. Empty Headed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone. well i don't know if anybody is coming to give this chance. i hope you are. i worked hard on it. 
> 
> firstly, i hope this will be series. i want to go through my favourite seasons. i'm starting with tate, because well i love him. 
> 
> this was inspired by Dollhouse! Dollhouse by demiwitch_of_mischief, and slytherinjennie! and  
> You All Have Guns, And You Never Put The Safety On by Worldsgreatestnerd so go read them if you have the time! they're great! 
> 
> um English is not my first language! i am trying super hard, but there may be a few errors!
> 
> WARNING! before you read this, make sure you have the time! it is a long ass chapter! this is only part one of tate. part 2 will be posted hopefully around the end of the week! ahhhh! this is so fun to write! i can't wait to write coven! i'm super excited!
> 
> enjoy!

There was a range of sadistic murders.

The victims were between the ages of 16 – 25. Manly woman with a few young men mixed in, but all were killed in the exact same way.

However, at this time, Sam was a little…terrified.

Sam was sweating buckets. He couldn't move, or speak. Every time he tried to turn himself, the thick ropes dug into him and the disgusting, foot-tasting sock dug deeper in his throat. His red-rimmed, blown wide eyes pecked with tears.

Why did this happen to him? He was a good boy. Always followed the rules, studying hard, never paying, never taking drugs…he had just stayed late in the library that evening. Sam hadn't been expecting anything to happen, it wasn't the first time he had studied that late.

Everything had been normal!

But it wasn't. The moment he turned to go down his street, he was grabbed. Sam doesn't remember what happened, it was such a blur. A hand covered his mouth and everything went black.

Sam awake from a soft vibration. It was so very dark, with little light seeping in through the tiny cracks. His movements were restricted, arms bound behind his back with tape holding the sock in his mouth.

Immediately, Sam sobbed. What was going on? Why was this happening? He was locked in something, a very small and tight area that shook. A painful jerk on the steel around him, had Sam's head smacking against the walls.

 _"Oh god. I'm in a boot!"_ he thought in panic.

Why was he in a boot? Why was he tied up! Where was the car going! Where was the car taking him!

Burning lava filled him, scorching him form the inside out. All he could think about was his mother. His hard-working mother, and what she would be thinking. Would he ever see her again?

Was he going to die…

Sam hadn't even had his first kiss yet. Didn't even be touched yet. Sam hadn't even dated anybody. All his time, and thoughts had been on studying. On getting the best grades, on making his mother proud, on-on-on being able to make something of himself!

To be able to take care of his mother when she became too old!

If he died, what will happen to her? Who will be around to help her?

Sam clenched his eyes shut, he curled his body up until his stomach hurt. The ropes pulled back on him, but he forced himself to deal with it. He yanked on his wrists, trying to force the ropes off his skin but only succeeded in them digging deeper.

He tried. He tried, and tried, and tired. Tried until he thought he was going to suffocate. His vision blurred horrifically, and not just from his tears.

Eventually, all Sam could do was lay on his side. Only staring through the tiny gap, watching the lights flicker. Lights from the street lamps? He didn't know how long he had been in the boot of the car, but he was numb. Tears burned as they dripped from his long eyelashes.

How much longer until it was over?

Sam must have blackened out again, because when he opened his eyes again, the car was no longer moving. It was still, and cold. How long had it been parked for? Sam hissed as he forced himself to shift, he couldn't feel his hands. He wondered if they were as black and blue as raspberries now.

He jumped as the sound of something hitting the boot took him by surprise. Sam twisted his head up, but nobody opened it. Instead, he heard the sound of something rustling away and meowing.

A cat.

Sam groaned. He closed his sore eyes, forcing himself to breath through his nose. He struggled to ignore the vile taste on his tongue, what type of sock was being used? It's…disgusting…Sam's never tasted something like this before. He didn't want to know…

Whistling.

Sam froze. His eyes widened until the skin around his eyes burned, and his whole insides twisted till it hurt. The hair on his body stood up on end, a frosty claw running down his spine.

The sound of fingers tapping on boot lid made Sam whimper. He tried to cry but couldn't. It happened so fast, the boot was ripped open and a burning light of a flashlight was shoved into his face.

Sam cried, his voice muffled around the sock. He was yanked out of the boot of the car, his legs buckling underneath him – he almost fell back to the ground if it wasn't for the painful grip on him. Sam was shoved forward, his feet twisting and he continuously tripped over as he was forced onward.

He was numb. Pin and prickles coated his body, licking his legs and arms. Being forced to stand up, send a sprawling dizziness through him. His eyes watered once more, almost making him blind.

The one thing he saw before everything darkened again, was a house. A three story house, with a porte-cochere with a medium-high wall. The bricks were a brown colour that almost had a reddish tint.

Sam would definitely have thought out of place in a house like that. If he wasn't already loosing his sense of self, he would have wondered who owned such a house.

Looking upon the house brought a sense of great suffering. Sam's body immediately pulsed with agony. He screamed around the sock, his own blood rushing through his veins. As if he was being stabbed, shot, or even had his head bashed in, he sobbed.

Ah. Yes. This house, it held great tragedy, and Sam could feel it all.

A dull pain from the back of his head sent him back into the darkness.

~#~#~#~

Sam had never been so confused then the moment he opened his eyes.

It was so bright. The light shining in from all directions, it was too shiny. Sam shielded his eyes with the sleeve of his multicoloured sweater. A whimper escaped his lips, oh-ah, why did his lips hurt?

"It's alright, honey."

Sam whined. The voice was soft and gentle, and very calm. He raised his head, peeking at the woman sitting next to him. A woman was on her knees, hands hovering over his small shoulders.

"Who are you?"

Sam's eyes widened at the sound of his own voice. Why did it sound so…his hands raised to touch his mouth, as soon as his fingers touched the raw skin, he hissed. It stung.

"I'm Moira O'Hara. What's your name?"

Easing himself up, Sam grumbled. His eyes awkwardly moved around the room he was, everything looked too clean. Too silk and just so perfect. Similar to the photos he would see in those magazines. Why was it so different? Sam felt something in the back of mind, but he paid it no attention.

"Oh, honey," Moira said, "Do you know your name?"

Name game.

"My name?" Sam mumbled, turning back to the woman, "I'm Sam. Sam…my name is Sam, Sam…"

What? Sam. Sam. Sam. That's his name. Sam. Sammy. Samuel. What.

When Moira patted his hand, he immediately jerked away. Sam pulled his sleeves over his hands, and peered at her. She was funny looking, but nice? All old, and wrinkly. Ruby hair braided around her head, with a single eye greyed out. She wore a simple black dress with a white apron.

"Samuel," Moira said, "That's a lovely name."

Sam frowned. Why did Moira look so sad? He didn't know her, right? Or did he? She was very touchy with him, after all. Maybe they were related? Oh. Maybe not. She would know his name otherwise, huh.

"Where are we, Moira?"

"You don't remember?"  
"Remember what?"

"Samuel, do you remember anything?" she asked soothingly.

Sam blinked at her, "I remember…yellow."

"Yellow?"

"I think I like yellow."

"I think you like many colours," Moira stated, gesturing to his sweater, "The rainbow."

Looking down at himself, Sam's lips pulled into a half-crooked smile. He nodded, running his fingers along the many strips of colours. The texture was rough under his fingerprints. Finally, his eyes returned to the room he and Moira was in.

A bedroom.

The bed was next to him. A king bed, with rick golden sheets and a fluff blanket. The pillows were perfectly puffed with thick matching curtains, the walls had green, pink and blue floral patterns. It was old looking but just so clean and perfect. The floor was wood, and the door was closed to the room.

"Where are we?" he asked, climbing to his feet but failing. His legs slid out from underneath him, and almost fell back to the ground, Moira grabbed him before he could.

"Where is this?"

Moira's face was gentle. She guided him down onto the bed, "Westchester Place."

"Westchester Place?" Sam repeated, "Why?"

"I don't know."

Sam looked up at her. His lips pulled into a frown, "Why don't you?"

"Everything is different to everyone."

What did that mean? Sam scratched at his chocolate brown hair, he chewed his bottom lip.

"I feel like I've forgotten something."

"Oh, like what?"

"I don't know."

Moira nodded, "You'll come to understand someday, Samuel. The word 'forgotten' will lose all its meaning when your entire existence is one long today."

"I don't understand…"

The smile on Moira's face relaxed him, "You don't need too. Not anymore."

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know…I feel like I should be doing something or-or…" Sam paused. Or what? What would happen if he wasn't doing…doing what….something important. He stared down at his hands, stretching out his fingers, "I'll let…is it you? Will I let you down?"

Moira didn't look fazed at the strange question. Instead, she petted him with a calm hand, "No. You won't let me down."

Sam grabbed at his hair, "I don't understand. My head, it's empty. I can't seem to figure it out. I-"

"No," she said calmly, "There's nothing for you to figure out. It's a start."

It was so confusing! Sam's mind was everywhere, but nowhere! He kept trying to stitch it back together, but it always fell back open. When Moira went to stand up, he grabbed onto her apron desperately.

"Where are you going? Don't leave me."

Moira pats him on the head, "Would you like to see the house, now?"

"House?"

"Yes, the house. We live in it."

Sam's eyebrows creased, "We do?"

"Of course," Moira held a hand out to him, "You can't stay in here, it's not healthy."

"Healthy?"

Moira nodded, "Come, Samuel. Let me show you, your new home."

"My home?" Sam repeated, slowly reaching for her hand.

Sam clenched onto her hand, like a scared child. He allowed her head to guide him through the house. It was massive. They kept moving from room to room, every time he thought he had memorized it, a new space was introduced.

"Samuel, you must never go beyond that wall."

Jerking his head, Sam stepped back from the flowers he had just been inspecting. He turned to Moira in confusion, and looked between her finger to the garden wall. While the garden was rather big, and wide, the wall framed it perfectly. But now that Moira had mentioned the wall, Sam couldn't help but wonder what was on the other side.

"Why?"

Moira turned to him, "It's dangerous out there. Bad things will happen."

"What bad things?"

"Samuel, promise me you will never go out there."

The first time since he woke up, and met Moira, she was very stern. Her voice was harsh, but cold at the same time. Sam's stomach twisted. He looked back at the garden wall, and then back to the woman.

"Okay."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

Moira sighed, "Thank you. I'm trying to help you, someday you will come to understand."

"Someday?" Sam asked.

"Yes, someday."

Sam twisted his lips in thought, "Who is that?"

"Oh, that's Miss Maria. She works here."

He stared at the woman with brown curls, and dressed in white. She waved at them as she walked across the garden. Why was she outside? She worked here? Doing what? And for who? Sam watched as she disappeared into the house.

"She works here?" he asked.

Moira nodded, "Many people work here, Samuel. You will see many people throughout the day and night, working away. Don't get scared, okay. They're just doing their job."

"Their job?" Sam hummed, turning to Moira, "Do you work here, too?"

"Of course," Moira chuckled, "I'm the house keeper."

House keeper? Oh! Oh! Sam nodded, she was dressed in black and white. Of course. Moira was the house keeper. Wait, many people worked here?

"Do I work here?"

Moira's eye twinkled. She turned her head away, looking out across the garden. She folded her hands into her apron, "Yes, Samuel. You work here too. You live here, now."

"I do?" he gasped.

"Yes. Because you work here, you live in one of the many rooms. I shall show you to your room in a moment."

Sam smiled widely, "I work with you?"

"In ways. You help keep the house clean."

Clean? Sam's nose winkled at that. Cleaning. Ah, so he was a cleaner?

"Oh…cleaning…"

"Don't look so down, Samuel. This is all we have left, my dear."

~#~#~#~

Sam hummed. He shifted on his feet, swaying side to side while holding the duster. The apron he wore was similar to the one Moira had, but it was a little more frillier. His free hand hanged numbly at his side, as he stretched up to reach the cobwebs above the grand father clock.

He didn't know how long he had been here, working at the house. Moira had taken him under her wing, and taught him all sorts of things to keep the house in order. Thought, she disappeared a lot, especially when they had new masters moving into the house. Sam couldn't keep track of the ones that leave, or the new ones that come. He just went with the flow. Sam didn't really meet any of the other workers, Moira mentioned.

He had seen Miss Maria, and another lady in white a few times. Both had waved at him when they noticed him watching. Oh, he saw a man that liked to sleep in the lounge a lot. Always dressed in a wax suit with a glass in his hand. And a crying woman somewhere upstairs that he just can't find no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe he should bring it up to Moira next time he sees her?

Mostly, Sam was alone. But that didn't matter, his head was empty so there was no point in talking with people. He would never have anything to say anyway. So, Sam spent most his days humming random tunes while doing his job, at night he mostly read and slept.

Clicking his tongue, Sam stepped back to stare at the clock. The house had many strange, and unique things inside. Some were hidden, some were easy to spot, Sam enjoyed finding them. He was always interested when he spotted something new.

Twirling the feather duster between his fingers, Sam bounced backward. His head tilted and by chance he noticed something sitting on one of many small tables around the house. It was small but long, and very shiny. Twisting the duster under his armpit, Sam inched closer to the table. His blue eyes gazing down at the object in curiosity.

A shiny paper-opener.

Awkwardly, Sam glanced around. It was strange, he felt like what he was doing was bad but he couldn't help himself. Seeing nobody else around, he carefully picked the paper-opener up, balancing it between his finger.

It was very shiny, and clear. He could see himself in the smooth surface. Slowly, he trailed his fingertip along the edge and gasped.

He cut himself.

It was that sharp? He held his thumb up to his eyes, seeing the red beads. Clocking his lips to the side, he pouted. It didn't hurt, it stung. How badly would he have to cut himself for it hurt? How much blood would come from the cut?

Sam held the paper-opener close, running the sharp tip along the surface of his wrist. How badly would it hurt if he pushed down? If he let a red stream crawl freely?

In thought, Sam raised his eyes to the grandfather clock face again. He watched the clock arms move, when suddenly he noticed a figure in the reflection that wasn't himself. Heat ran across his body, and he spun around to face the person.

"You're doing it wrong."

Sam blinked, "What?"

"You're doing it wrong."

The person was an unfamiliar man. Sam blinked, staring at him, he hadn't ever seen him before.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

The boy had shaggy messy, brown hair with blonde highlights. His eyes were more brown then green, he wore a similar sweater to the ones Sam liked to wear only it was more dark. More plain looking and almost depressing.

"The paper-opener," the blonde said, nodding to the small object, "If you're trying to cut yourself, you hold it to the side, not straight up."

Sam blinked, looked back down at the opener, "Oh, why?"

"Because you'll only succeed in giving yourself a small hole. You wouldn't want to do that."

"A hole?" Sam gasped in wonder, holding his wrist up, "Why wouldn't I want to do that?"

An amused look appeared across the taller guy, "Well, it's harder to hide."

"Why would I want to hide it?"

"Cause' if you're caught you would be sent away and then you'll never succussed."

"Succussed in what?" Sam frowned in confusion. The guy wasn't making an sense.

The blonde perched his lips, raising an eyebrow, "You know, killing yourself."

"Killing…myself?"

"Yes," the guy said. He held his wrist up, dragging his finger vertically across his sleeve covered wrist, "If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically so they can't stitch it back up."

Sam looked down at his own wrist. He pressed his finger into the middle of his wrist, and dragged it down vertically. How much blood would come from that? He wondered if it would spill free, and pool around his feet.

"I wasn't."

The blonde trailed into the lounge. He slowly walked around the room, his eyes looking at the different items littered around. He looked at Sam when he spoke again.

"Wasn't what?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, "I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was just curious, I wasn't going to cut myself. Not really."

"Isn't that what we all say when we get caught?" the guy chimed, chuckling breathlessly. A strange look appearing on his face briefly, "Not that it matters now, right?"

Sam grumbled, "I don't like it when people talk like that."

"Talk like what?" the other laughed.

"Like…um…I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know," Sam sighed, turning around to put the opener back down, "I never know anything anymore."

The blonde eyed him from across the open room, "Also, if you were trying to hurt yourself or cut yourself, you might want to be in a more private area. Not out in the open where anybody could walk in on you."

"Try locking a door or two, as well."

Sam frowned, "I wasn't. I've already said I wasn't."

"Alright," the guy said, holding his hands up in a mockingly stance, "You wasn't."

Sam bristled in annoyance. The guy didn't believe him! It annoyed him!

"Who are you anyway? Do you work here too?"

"Work here?" the blonde paused. A funny look appearing on his face, "Do you work here?"

Sam nodded, "Yes. I work here as a cleaner."

The boy looked away, twisting his lips to the side. His eyes gazed back down to the small trinkets, he picked one up randomly, turning it over between his fingers.

"You work with Moira, don't you?" he questioned, looking at Sam through the reflection of the glass cupboard, "…Is she your mother?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, when his voice died in his throat. Was Moira his mother? Sam spun his brain back, she had been there from the beginning, hadn't she? He had woken up to her at his side, and showed him around the house, taught him how to do his job correctly.

Moira checked in on him a lot too, much like a mother would.

"I think so?"

The blonde turned around, "You think so?"

"Um, yeah," Sam shrugged, "Yes. She is."

That strange look was on his face again. He crossed his arms tightly underneath his armpits, he doesn't say anything, and just stared at Sam.

"Why?"

"No reason," the blonde shrugged, and turned around to leave.

Sam watched the guy leave. It was only when he no longer could see the blonde did he realize the boy didn't say his name.

~#~#~#~

Sam sat outside on the porch. His fingers picked at the little wooden splinters of the white chipped pillars.

"It needs to be painted again."

Moira hummed, sitting on the outside swinging chair, "You should. The paint is old, and faded now."

"I want too," Sam nodded.

The red haired didn't look up from the book she head. Her legs were crossed, and she held it with a single hand.

"I met somebody today."

"Oh, who did you met?"

"I don't know."

Moira finally looked up, "You don't know?"

"He never gave me his name," Sam shrugged, returning his eyes back to the wood. This time, he took notice of the weeds, "He was strange, and funny. Asking me questions, and giving me this weird look."

"Was he in a suit?"

"No. That man is always sleeping on the coach," Sam hummed, "This guy was weirded out by me, I think. Told me I was doing it wrong."

Moira frowned, "Doing what, Samuel."

"I don't know."

"You must have an idea?" Moira pressed.

Sam shrugged, "Are you my mother?"

Moira's leant back in surprise. She blinked down at him, "I, what do you think?"

"I think…" Sam trailed off, grabbing the yellow weed flower and snapping it free. He held the dandelion between his fingers, "Maybe? You have always been there, and cared for me. That's a mother, isn't it?"

When Moira doesn't say anything, Sam turned towards her. He blinked his blue eyes, seeing the strange expression on Moira's face. It was an expression he hadn't seen before. A new look, one between sadness, confusion and happiness. He played with the dandelion carefully, pinching it with his nails.

"Am I wrong? I'm sorry."

Moira shook her head, "No. It's alright, Samuel…." She breathed in sharply, "I'm not your mother, Samuel."

"Oh," Sam's face scrunched, "Okay."

"But I can be, if you want me to be."

"You can?" he frowned, "How?"

Moira chuckled, "I'll adopt you. If you want to stay with me, that is."

"Okay."

The old woman nodded, and returned her attention to her book. She licked her thumb and turned the page. Sam watched her with a soft 'hum' before he wrapped his thin arms around the pillar and hugged it. He pressed his head against the surface with a click of his tongue, his eyes trailing back to the garden wall.

The wall he must never cross. Why?

Suddenly he noticed movement by one of the bushes. Immediately his eyes zooned in on it, a figure standing by it.

"Whose that?"

Moira hummed, glancing towards the bush, "Oh. That's our neighbour."

"Our neighbour?" he asked, "Why is she hiding?"

"She likes to hide," Moira smiled.

"Oh."

~#~#~#~

Sam noticed weird things when he was cleaning one of the bedroom's window. Normally the windows that faced the front of the house. Today was not different. He held the rag of the glass, and squinted his eyes.

Ah. It was there again.

A group of kids outside the house, standing by the garden wall. They were clustered together, talking in almost whispers? Why whisper? Nobody else could hear them. What were they doing?

Sam watched as they looked towards the house. Few of them was pointing at the house, their eyes looking wide in shock or something? Sam didn't know.

He leant closer to the window, eyeing them in confusion. The high schoolers were behind the wall? But Moira said it was dangerous to go behind the wall. He doesn't understand. Sam pressed both hands against the glass, almost hitting his nose against the glass.

The teenagers looked like they were screaming? They ran away, leaving one girl standing behind the wall.

She stared at the house. Slowly, she raised a hand and waved. Why was she waving? Oh-oh! She was waving at him!

Sam waved back.

She looked surprised. Jerking a little before she stiffening walked away. Sam watched her go, even pressing the side of his face against the window until she was fully gone. He pulled back with a frown.

"That was weird."

"Don't stand that close to the windows," a sudden voice said from behind him, "You'll smudge the glass."

Sam jerked away, "I'm sorry."

A woman stood behind him. Her face was warned, eyes looking sunken and her skin hanged slightly. Dark pads littered her face, as if she was exhausted. She walked with a sway, moving side to side, with her messy – rat like hair almost sticking to her skin. No. It looked like it was melted into her shoulders? How did that work?

"Um, is this your room?" he asked.

Dragging herself into the room, she fell on top of the bed. She doesn't say anything to that, and Sam thought she had fallen sleep until she suddenly flopped herself right way up.

"You're the new one, aren't you?"

Sam blinked, "New? Um, yes. I am new? Maybe? I don't know."

She raised an eyebrow, "You don't know?"

"I don't remember. My mother let me stay here with her," Sam said, "Oh. I mean, my new mother."

This made the woman sit up, "Your new mother? What happened to your old one?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember what happened here? I will always remember mine. How it hurt, oh, it hurt so much. I remember how hot it was."

"What do you mean?" he mumbled, stepping closer in curiosity, "Remember what?"

The woman shifted on the bed, her body quivered. Her face became darker, a shadow creeping across the paper-thin surface of her face. Her hair steamed all of a sudden. Sam gasped, watching the little steam flitter through the air, swirling like a cloud and soon enough fading away.

"It's there," she whimpered. Her arms shook, trembling as she raised them – stretching them out and spreading her fingers out wide, "Oh, oh no, oh no, oh no, what did I do. What did I do. I hurt them, to hurt him. I hurt me, to hurt him. Now they hide. They cry and cry, sobbing louder and louder. Melting into the shadows, refusing to show me their beautiful faces."

"Who won't?"

"My little ones. My piglets. They're here, but they're not. They so afraid now. Running and running, hiding and hiding. I'm here, but I'm not. They care, but they don't," she suddenly paused, her frantic eyes moving back and forth. She let out a scream, and repeatedly slammed her arms up and down, "I'm here by myself! I'm here! I'm here!"

"I'm here! I'm still here! Margaret! Angela! I'm still here!"

Sam stumbled back in surprise. His eyes widened, watching the woman scream and shriek. He jumped when a small hand wrapped around his, he snapped his head down to find a little girl staring up at him.

"You should leave now. Before she loses it again."

Sam opened but then shut his mouth. The little girl was young, maybe eight or nine. Her skin was dark with pink finger-like lines casted across her face, and down her arms and legs. She wore a light blue nightie, with fuzzy socks. Her hair was pulled into a pair of pigtails, tied by matching blue ribbons.

"Come on," she said, turning around and leading him from the room.

Sam looked back at the woman on the bed. She kept wailing and screaming. He gulped, and turned away, his eyes flickering in confusion. Why would she scream like that? Who was Margaret and Angela? Oh, was this little girl one of them?

"Ignore my mother," the girl said, "She's in denial."

"Denial?" Sam asked.

"Yes. My sister and I avoid her. Her grief had destroyed her mental state, and now she cries. If you stay near her, she will try to hurt you too."

Sam sniffled, "Hurt me? Did she hurt you?"

"Once," the girl shrugged, "Long ago, but we don't allow her anymore. Instead, she hurts other people. If you get too close, you'll get burned."

Burned.

Sam nodded, "Okay. I'll stay away."

"Thank you," the girl smiled, nodding her head, "We're not strong enough to save people from her, but we can warn our own kind."

Sam blinked. His lips parted, as if to ask what she meant but another childish voice called out. It danced through the air, and was older then the little girl at his side.

"Margaret!"

Margaret smiled, closing her eyes briefly, "My sister is calling me now. I must leave you."

"Okay, bye Margaret. I hope we can see one another again."

"We will. I'll bring Angela next time."

How weird.

~#~#~#~

It was cold. How weird. It was cold to the point of shivering, and Sam knew he should be shivering too, but he wasn't. He wasn't that cold, maybe a little but not enough. He was slouched over on the back of the houses porch this time, his elbows resting on top of his knees with his hands holding his face.

It was weird, and confusing.

He just watched the rain fall quietly. A slash of lightening and a roar of thunder made him twitch, shake a little but couldn't bring himself to run away.

"I like it when it rains…"

"Me too."

Sam jerked, "Oh, it's you again."

The blonde haired man was leaning against the closest pillar. His arms were crossed, and his lips perched to the side.

"I like it when it rains, I feel calm."

Sam blinked, "I just like the sound of it."

The guy laughed, "That too."

The hazle and amber haired man stared back at him, twisting his fingers around to tap against his chin. He slowly ran his eyes back to the rain, his skin twitching from the cold bristle wind.

"Why are you out here?" Sam asked.

The blonde doesn't reply right away, "I saw you outside, and thought I'd give you some company."

"Oh. Why?"

"You sure ask a lot questions, don't you?"

Sam frowned, "My head is empty. I need to fill it up again."

"…You don't remember anything, huh?"

"Should I?"

With a sigh, the guy pushed himself off the pillar. He dropped down to sit next to Sam, "No. If it mattered enough, you would remember it."

"Would I?" Sam mumbled, "Would I really remember it?"

"Who knows. Maybe it's best that you don't. You could have something dark that you don't want to remember…"

Something dark? Like what? Sam perched his lips curiously.

"I like it when the leaves change too."

Sam raised his eyes to the trees, "I like orange."

"Orange?" the other hummed, "I like it when the trees become orange too."

"And yellow."

"Yellow too," the blonde nodded, "Why were you playing with the letter-opener?"

Sam raised his head, twirling his attention to him, "What?"

"Why were you playing with the letter-opener? Was you going to stab your wrist with it?"

"No," Sam said, "Ah, well, maybe? I don't know. I was curious."

The blonde tilted his head, "Curious about how it would feel?"

"No. How it would bleed."

"Ah, I get that," he nodded, holding his arm out. He pulled his sleeve up, revealing a pattern of white lines, "This one was my first one. I was curious too, about the pain, and the blood. I think I was ten? Maybe eleven."

Sam stared down at them, as if they're the coolest thing he had ever seen. His eyes memorized every line, tracing the patterns.

"You can touch them, if you want."

"I can?" Sam gasped, "Really?"

The guy nodded mutely. His lips curled slightly, almost smiling at him. He shifted towards Sam, stretching his wrist to him. His hazel eyes unmoving as Sam gently trailed his fingertips lightly across the lines.

Sam gasped quietly, feeling the strange texture. They were strange, upturned bumps brushed across his fingertips. They eventually paused on top of a rather large upturned bump, he pressed down lightly at first before pressing harsher.

He raised his eyes from the lines when the boy let a moan. They stared at one another, Sam slowly becoming unsure of what was happening but just going with the flow.

"I'm sorry. Is this making you uncomfortable?" he finally asked.

"No."

"Oh…you never told me your name. I'm Sam. Sam, um. I guess, I'm Samuel O'Hara now, but I don't like Samuel. Only Moira is allowed to call me that."

The blonde smirked, "You're rambling."

"Oh," Sam flushed, "I don't mean too."

"I'm Tate."

"Just Tate?" Sam asked.

Tate shrugged, "Maybe."

Sam pouted, and finally slid a little away. Deciding he wanted a little space, "Do you work here, Tate? What do you do?"

"I don't work here," Tate said quietly, "But I do live here, I guess."

Sam blow his brown out of his face, his nose twitching, "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That," Sam pointed, "Look at them."

Tate turned in the direction of Sam's pointing. His eyes squinted a little, before he shrugged, "Oh, that's nothing."

"Why is it nothing?"

"Because they're out there, and we're in here."

Sam sighed. That didn't explain anything, however, he couldn't stop watching the two. Two people on the other side of the garden wall, it was pouring with rain and neither looked bothered by that. They walked close to one another, looking like they're laughing and whispering to one another.

The woman climbed onto the wall all of a sudden. The man held her hand as she began to balance across the wall. However, as she walked, she slipped and fell.

Sam flinched as she hit the ground, the man missing her.

"She fell."

Tate nodded, "She did. He let her fall too. He should have stopped her."

"Why?"

"Because he loves her," Tate said softly, "If you love someone, you should never hurt them, never allow them to get hurt. He should have stopped her from climbing up there."

Sam stared back at the couple. The man was holding the woman now, running a hand over her head. The woman looked fine? He guessed, she was laughing and trying to brush it off.

"How would he know she would slip?"

"Doesn't matter. You eliminate any chance."

"Oh."

The two fell into silence again. Both just watching the couple until they left. The rain continued to fall.

"Are you afraid of anything?" Tate suddenly asked.

Sam tilted his head, "Um. I don't know. My head's too empty to be scared of anything. What about you?"

"Hmm. I guess, if I have to say I was afraid of anything…it would be fear of rejection."

"What does that mean?"

"Let's hope you'll never have to experience it."

~#~#~#~

Sam didn't see Tate much after that. He didn't know where the other guy would go, or what room was his. Sam tried to find Tate's bedroom, but gave up after a while. He had to finish his job, or Moira could get into trouble.

That's what Moira says, anyway. Sam hasn't seen their boss yet, and hardly any of the masters of the house. Other than seeing Margaret and Angela occasionally, and playing a few games with them, Sam was mostly on his own again.

He twirled the feather duster between his fingers again, making quiet sounds to himself as if the duster was alive. It wasn't but there wasn't much he could do to entertain himself. As he climbed the steps to the third floor, he noticed a figure in the corner of his eye. Sam immediately turned his attention towards it, moving fast in hopes of keeping it in sight.

A woman. Another woman with long golden dress, her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She was just walking aimlessly around. Sam watched as she went from doorway to doorway, every time she would stop and stare. Her blank face scrunching up whenever she stayed to long staring into the room, as if she was on the verge of tears.

"Excuse me?" Sam finally said.

The woman came to a stop, pausing in the middle of her walk – her back to him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, tilting his head, "I'm just curious. What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking…" she breathed out gently, "Just looking."

Sam frowned, "Looking for what?"

"Everything."

What did that mean? She was looking for everything?

"Who are you?" the woman asked, turning her head a little.

"Oh. I'm Sam! I'm new, so I'm still meeting everyone. Are you one of the masters of the house? Do I work for you?"

The woman was silent for a few seconds, "Working for me? Maybe. I was the lady of the house, once…a long time ago…it's hard to recall now…"

"Ah, I know what that's like. I don't remember anything old, my head is empty."

"Empty? If I could be so lucky…" she whispered, "Sam, listen to me, okay…if you see a monster, tell it to go away."

"Monster?"

Monster? Monster? What's a monster? Why would he see a monster? Why would he tell it to go away?

The woman lowered her head, "When you encounter a beast, yell and scream for it to go away. It will. It will."

"A beast," Sam pouted, "What kind of beast."

"One that used to be so beautiful…so beautiful, and sweet. My little angel. What has he done to you. What has he done to you. My baby. My baby. I want a baby. A new baby. One that's not a monster."

Sam watched as she returned to her routine, this time muttering to herself about a 'baby'. Sam scratched at his head, and shrugged. Weird people lived in this house. Weird and strange people. Who walks around with red in the back of their head anyway?

One last look at the woman, Sam turned left and swung his feather dust. He walked in the direction where he had dust today. It wasn't raining as hard as before now, instead it was spitting. Sam paused to watch it tap against the window, before he continued onward.

He entered a room with blue and black patterned walls. Sam immediately stepped up to one of the walls, and ran his hand along it.

It was velvet.

~#~#~#~

The attic wasn't as dark as Sam was expecting. He climbed the steps, and pushed the door open, poking his head in. He was just exploring, having finished cleaning for the day and was allowed to do what he wanted – within reason of course.

There was two places where he hadn't been yet. The attic and the basement. Curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to finally go and explore the attic. There was so much in the attic! Sam immediately gravitated towards the bunch of junk, reaching for one of the top stacks of papers in wonder. He turned it over with hum, seeing an old wrinkled up newspaper. Sam couldn't read the words as it was too faded, but he tried too.

Something about a manor and finding something inside it. Sam didn't know.

Things hanged from the ceiling. Sam lightly poked one and laughed as it sprung back and forth. It was a strange spring thing, with a bunch of odd balls attached to it. Boxes of odd bits and pieces was scattered around.

The further he went to explore, the more he began to notice the items changed from junk to toys. Sam picked up an old teddy bear, it's arm was hanging by a thin thread and it was missing an eye.

Sam smiled. It was pitiful but he liked it. He hugged it to his chest, patting the back of the bears head. It was so old, and falling apart, little fluff was left on it's surface but Sam couldn't help but hug it tightly.

Suddenly he heard a creak. Sam's head snapped up, eyes wide and owlish.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is anybody here?"

He got no reply. Sam pouted, carefully lowering the bear back onto the chest of draws. He turned in the direction where he heard the creak. He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the dim light.

He could make out an outline of something. Something slowly moving side to side.

"I can see you, you know."

The outline quickly shovelled towards a mannequin, as if it was trying to hide behind it. Sam tilted his head. Why was it trying to hide?

Sam took a step forward, "Why are you hiding? I won't hurt you."

A red ball came rolling out from the shadows. Sam stared down at it, watching as it hit his shoe. He looked between the ball and the direction of the shadowy figure.

"You want to play?"

A gasp came from the darkness. Sam smiled, and sat down, crossing his legs. He grabbed the red ball and rolled it back towards the owner of it. After a few seconds, it immediately came rolling back.

"You want to play catch, huh?" Sam laughed, "Are you hiding because you're scared? You don't need too. Please come out."

It was silent. Sam was worried he made the person leave, but then suddenly he heard shuffling. Sam's head snapped up, watching as the figure came closer and closer.

"Oh."

It was a kid. A young boy with long hair, his face was twisted, deformed. He just sat across from Sam, dressed in baggy grey clothing. Sam watched as his fingers playing with the edge of his clothes.

"Hello!" Sam grinned, "I'm Sam!"

The boy stared at him, his eyes sunken like.

"Can't you talk?"

"He can't."

The young boy made an excited sound at the voice. Straightening himself, while clapping his hands innocently.

"Other than grunts, coos and cries. He's very quiet, and harmless."

Sam cranked his head back, "When did you come up?"

"Just now," Tate said, "Hey Beau."

Beau grumbled, flapping his hands. Looking rather distressed or upset.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry I haven't been to see you in a while. I've been busy."

Sam clocked his head in curiosity. He looked between the two, chewing the inside of his mouth. His blue eyes wide with fasciation. His head twirled back to Beau when he made a loud grunt, slouching back in his ankles.

Tate lightly nudged him, "He wants you to roll the ball back."

"Oh!" Sam jumped, pushing the ball back to Beau, "I'm sorry."

Beau made a sound, cupping his hands together. He caught the ball happily, and pushed it back to Sam.

"He's my little brother," Tate said plainly.

Sam, rolling the ball back, tilted towards Tate, "Why is he up here?"

"He's not allowed to leave."

"Why?"

"Our mother won't allow it."

Mother? Tate's mother? Oh. Sam didn't understand, and as he stared back at Beau, he couldn't help but smile. Beau was innocent, really innocent. Every time he caught the ball, he made an happy bounce with a cute coo.

"He likes you."

Sam gasped, "Really?"

Beau made a sound which Sam took for yes.

"I like you too, Beau!"

Tate smiled, "He doesn't get much visitors. So he's happy. You're the first person who didn't run away in fear."

"Why would they run away?"

"I don't know," Tate shrugged, this time taking the ball.

Sam hummed. He gazed at Beau, "People don't play with you often, huh?"

Beau shook his head. He made a range of sounds, while shrugging his shoulders.

"It's okay. I'm supposed to clean the manor, it's my job, but I'll come play with you whenever I have the free time."

That made Beau happy. It was nice to have a friend, anyway. There was too many weirdos in this house.

"You don't have too," Tate said softly.

Sam shook his head, "I want too."

~#~#~#~

They had new masters today.

Sam squinted his eyes, watching the man. His eyes kept moving back and forth between them, standing next to Moira awkwardly. The man had silk blonde hair pulled back, with what looked like to be workout clothes on.

"So, you're housekeeping?"

Moira bowed her head, "Yes sir."

"And the boy? Is he your son?"

"Yes sir. This is my son, Samuel. He helps me stay on top of the cleaning."

"How old is he? Are you sure we can trust him? I don't want any of my things to go missing. I don't care if you need money for smack, I do not want to find an drugged out teenager in my new home."

Sam stared, watching the other man come up behind the blonde haired man. He had dark brown hair, with a perfectly shaved face. He wore a blue and black checked shirt. Both of the men towered over Sam.

"Patrick, leave the poor kid alone."

"Chad-"

Moira places a hand onto Sam's shoulder, "He's a hard work. I can ensure you he will not be getting into any trouble, and he will not dream of doing drugs."

"That's great! Does he go to Westfield High?" Chad asked.

Moira shook her head, "No. I home-school him."

Patrick scuffed, "Are you sure that won't get in your way of your job?"

"No. It will not sir."

"We will see."

Sam just stared. He didn't understand the strange atmosphere between them. Something was up, but he didn't know what it was. Moira was stern, and oddly cold towards their new masters of the house. Patrick didn't like him, Sam didn't know why. Why did he look at him like that? As if Sam was, what? Scum on his shoe?

He didn't get it. Sam stayed silent during the whole interrogation. Chad shook his head during it mostly, he kept looking at Sam with a guilty frown.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed behind Patrick's back.

Sam could only shrug.

"If that is all sir," Moira suddenly said slyly, "We would like to start our jobs now."

Patrick blinked, almost looking taken back. He held a hand to his chest, with his body slightly hunched forward.

"That's fine," Chad said first, "You both can leave now."

Sam glanced at Moira, and quickly cracked his back, bowing quickly after seeing Moira bow first. He glanced between the three adults, and finally turned to follow Moira out of the entry hall of the manor. Sam glanced back over his shoulder, seeing the two muttering to one another.

Chad went in for a kiss. Patrick let him, before walking away, leaving a sad Chad behind.

What was that about?

"Um, Moira?"

She hummed in response. The two entered the kitchen together, pulling out their cleaning supplies.

"Why did they kiss?" he asked.

Moira looked up briefly, "Because they…are a couple, dear."

"They're a couple?"

The old woman nodded, "That's correct."

"Oh, so they love eachother?" Sam asked softly.

"Well, no," Moira shook her head, glancing towards the door, "Not exactly."

Sam frowned, his eyebrows creased, "But they're a couple."

Moira paused. She sighed softly, "Sometimes, love isn't enough. Sometimes, people are together but not out of love."

"Why?"

"Many reasons. People can just fall out of love. They could become bored. When somebody becomes so custom in a relationship, and even when it's beginning to fall apart, they're too scared to leave it. Normally because they're comfortable in it, as it is."

"Do you think they will stay together?"

"…Maybe."

~#~#~#~

"Sammy? Sammy, wake up."

Sam groaned, he tried to bat the hand away. He rolled over onto his side, trying to curl up and grumbled when the hand shook him again.

"Sammy, come on. Wake up."

"Noooo," he whined, "I wanna sleep. Shhh. Shhh. Sleep time."

A soft laugh came from behind him, "I want to show you something. You'll like it."

Tiredly, Sam rolled onto his other side. He stayed underneath his yellow quilt, hands folded underneath his cheeks, he slowly peeled an eye open to look into the darkness of his bedroom.

"What is it?"

"You're gonna have to get up to find out."

Sam groaned, propping up slightly, "Why can't this wait for morning?"

"Because, it's only out during the night."

"Tateeeeee."

"Sammy."

Sam sighed. Seeing that the other boy wasn't going to leave, Sam twisted himself, his legs poking out from the quilt first. He sat up, his body swaying a little, while rubbing his face like a cat.

Tate let out another laugh, "Sorry. It's just, your hair. It's a mess. I've never seen it so messy before."

"Ha. Coming from you, that's rich."

"My hair is never that messy."

"It totally is."

Tate smirked, letting out a soft chuckle. He stood up and held his hands out, stretching his fingers out. Sam yawned, and clapped his hands down onto Tate's. Said boy easily pulled him up to his feet.

"Uff, strong man, huh."

Tate laughed again, "Sure. Let's say that, it's not that you're underweight or anything."

"I'm not that small."

"You're tiny."

Sam pouted, grumbling but his lips still twitched a little. He tried to hide his smile by turning away, "Let me grab a sweater. It's cold."

Pulling a random sweater, green and white striped, over his head. Sam twirled towards Tate with a frown.

"It better be worth missing my beauty sleep."

Tate smiled, "It will, and besides, I don't think need beauty sleep."

Sam only yawned. He followed Tate tiredly, the manor was silent and dark. Nobody was up at this time of night anyway, or at least he thoughts so, until he noticed the strange man in the wax suit again. The man was pacing around the lounge, awake this time while holding a glass in his hand.

He watched the boy curiously before Tate carefully took him by the hand to pull him along.

"Do you know who that was?"

Tate shrugged, "I think Charles. But that doesn't matter, come on, it's this way."

"Okay."

It was colder then Sam thought. He was walking bare foot thought, so that might be one of the main reasons. Sam was half-sleep until Tate pushed the window open, he snapped awake at that moment, blinking his eyes weirdly.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Tate smiled, "It's okay. It's okay. Look, we can climb onto the porch roof from here."

"But why?"

"You'll see," Tate grinned.

Sam twisted his lips thoughtfully, peering through the window. Tate climbed through first, and turned expectedly towards him, stretching a hand out to him. Sam gulped, and nervously took ahold of the head, allowing himself to be guided onto the porches roof.

"Um."

"It's alright. I've got you," Tate reinsured, pressing a hand to the small of Sam's back, "I won't let you fall."

Sam sheepishly glanced around, his eyes glancing side to side. He slowly sat down at the tip of the roof where it was connected to the wall, pressing his hand against the rough bricks. He slid down, and pulled his knees up.

"Um, so what are we looking for?" Sam asked, "Or at?"

Tate sat next to him. He stretched his legs out, looking more comfortable then Sam.

"Wait for it."

"Wait for what?"

Tate grinned, "That."

Sam squinted his eyes, and opened his mouth in confusion. Just as he was about to voice it, he noticed a little white speck flutter down between them. He inhaled sharply with a gasp, raising his head in time see a rainfall of white flakes.

"What is this?" he gasped, cupping his hands together to catch one of the flakes, "They're sticking!"

Tate laughed. He tilted his head, white snowflakes beginning to gather in his hair and sticking to his sweater.

"It's snow. It always snows at this time of year, always at the same date and time."

Sam gasped, "Snow! I've never seen snow, I don't think so anyway! It's so pretty!"

"I knew you'd like it," Tate said, grinning so widely that dimples poked out of his cheeks, "I always sit here, every year to enjoy the first snow fall. It'll get heavier in an hour or so, so we should head back inside in twentyish minutes."

Sam nodded, his eyes peeled wide with awe and glee. He kept his arms up, observing the little flakes as they began to cover his sweater. He laughed as he shook his head, snow falling from his hair.

When he turned his attention back to Tate, he found Tate staring at him with a smile. Sam smiled in return, and reached over to ruffle his hair, laughing as snow fell from his head too.

Tate laughed. He cupped the back of Sam's head, and shoved a hand of snow into his face.

Sam gasped. His body shivering up from the coldness, his shoulders raising to his ears with his arms arched on either sides of him. His mouth gapped, with snow falling from his face. He looked up Tate who was trying not to laugh, and failing. Snorting with his own laugh, he grabbed snow to threw back at Tate.

Tate shielded his face while laughing. This time he grabbed a hand fall and pushed it down the back of Sam's sweater. It made Sam squeal, his body jerking forward. He shook back and forward, trying to wiggle the snow out of his clothes.

Sam yelped, arching his back with wide eyes. He glared playfully at Tate, who only smiled innoncelty in return.

"Two can play at that, Tate!"

"Oh really?"

Sam launched forward, sliding across the slippery roof. He grabbed at the snow, and tried to shove it into Tate's sweater, who tried to avoid Sam from doing that. Their laughter becoming louder with every passing, when suddenly, Tate's body wiggled back and forward.

Tate's eyes widened, his arms springing out blindly to grab onto something. Sam tried to grab a hold of Tate, but it was too late.

"Tate!"

Tate fell backward, straight off the roof. He fell through the air, and landed on the ground with a thud.

Sam scrambled to the edge, sliding on his stomach. His eyes were wide, with tears slowly building up at the corner. He looked over the edge, staring at Tate. Everything around him swirled.

"Tate! Tate!"

Tate didn't reply or move. Sam slid towards the window, reaching for it and pulling himself through. He landed back inside the house on his shoulders, he rolled back over and crawled along the floor at first. His body trembled, quivering from the cold and the shock.

Sam's feet slipped across the wooden floors, but he ignored it. He ran along the corridor, sliding at along the staircase, and stumbling down it. He threw the door open, and rushed out into the snowy garden. Sam came to a stop, twirling his head side to side before running towards Tate.

"Tate! Tate!" he cried, falling to his knees at the blonde's side. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch Tate, "T-Tate?"

Sam felt tears beginning to run down his cheeks, when suddenly, Tate sat up. He jerked backward, rolling across the snow.

"Tate! You-You're alright?"

Tate blinked, peering around himself before his eyes settled onto Sam. He stared blankly at him for a few seconds, and after a long pregnant silence between the two, he nodded.

"I guess the snow broke my fall."

Sam hiccupped, he opened his mouth and then shut it. He threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Tate's shoulders, and pushing the two back to the ground. It must have taken Tate by surprise, as the guy tensed up.

"I thought you…"

Tate carefully slid his arms around Sam in return, "I'm alright. I…didn't mean to scare you."

"This is what it's like to be scared?" Sam frowned, leaning back, "I don't like it."

Tate raised up, "I'm okay. See. I'm not hurt."

"You were lucky this time," Sam frowned, "You might be next time. You can't go up there again."

Tate hummed, blinking a little. He clocked his head, "Are you worried about me?"

"No shit!" Sam huffed, hitting Tate with the back of his hand.

Laughing softly, Tate stood up and held his hands out, "Alright. Alright. I'm sorry, I'll be careful for now on."

Sam sniffled. He rubbed his eyes with both hands, before grabbing onto Tate's hand. The taller male pulled him to his feet, and wrapped an arm around his middle when Sam's feet slid out from underneath him.

As they turned a corner to re-enter the house together, they noticed what appeared to be a person. A figure sneaking around the house, dressed in black. Immediately, Tate covered Sam's mouth, muffling he yelp and sunk back behind the corner of the house.

"Shh, shh, don't make a sound. It's alright. It's alright."

Sam wrapped his hands around Tate's arm, "They have-they have a machete."

"I know," Tate said, poking his head, "They're going inside."

"What do we do?" Sam gasped, "S-Should we call the police? We should, shouldn't we?"

Tate clicked his tongue, his lips pulling into a wide smirk, "I have a better idea."

"What idea?" Sam asked.

"One less high maintenance asshole making the lives of the less fortunate more tolerable, is a public service," the other said, almost preening darkly, "Short of killing them before they could kill us, is to scare them. Scare them so badly that they never return."

Sam blinked slowly, "H-How do we do that?"

Tate grinned so widely that Sam could see his white teeth, "It's simple. Lure them to the basement."

"What? Why? What's in the basement? How are we going to scare them in the basement?"

"Don't worry about it," Tate chimed, standing up, "Just get them to follow you to the basement."

Sam stared up at him, "How am I going to do that?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

~#~#~#~

He'll think of something? That asshole.

Sam trembled, wrapping his arms around himself. He rubbed his arms, slouching over and slowly walking forward through the house. Sam poked his head out, looking around the corners and keeping the person in black in sight.

What's he supposed to do? What was Tate going to do?

It was a man. Sam watched him as he sneaked around, holding the long machete out in front of him. Sam swallowed thickly, he had a feeling that the man was preparing to slash whoever he runs into.

Sam quivered in worry. What if the man runs into Moira? He didn't want Moira to get hurt.

Ah. He really should call the police…

How…how was he supposed to make the man go into the basement?

Sam chewed the inside of his mouth, trailing carefully along behind the man. He awkwardly inched forward, he was not cut out for sneaking…it was amazing the guy hadn't noticed him yet. Sam was sure he was making too much noise.

The guy paused in front of a chest of draws, going through the draws while muttering under his breath. Sam stared, watching the man close the bottom draw and stressfully ran a hand through his hair and down his neck. He shifted slightly, and began to peace, grumbling louder.

Sam was able to make out 'where' and 'Patrick' and 'hidden'…what had Patrick done? Why was the guy searching through draws and cupboards, what had Patrick hidden? Suddenly, the man turned in Sam's direction, and he tried to jerk out of the way, however it didn't go well. Instead, his hip bumped against the vase and knocked it off the table.

He tried to catch it. He really did. But it fell to fast, slipping between his fingers.

The vase shattered across the ground, the little pieces fanning out in all directions. Sam froze, his eyes growing wide and his mouth gapping like a fish. He looked between the mess and man dressed in black. It was as if everything slowed down around him, the colour washing out and his ears was able to pick up the quiet defined ticking of the clock.

Oh shit.

The man swung the machete in Sam's direction and that was all he needed. Sam spun around, and shot off.

He ran as fast as his skinny, fry-like legs could go. The sound of heavy feet raced after him. Sam was too afraid to check over his shoulder, nervous about seeing how close the guy might be.

The basement steps groaned as he stumbled down them, tripping into the darkness. His hands waved through the shadows, trying to guid himself the best he could. A loud thud came from the top of the steps, and Sam chanced a peek, seeing the man slouched over – trying to snuff him out with sight alone.

Sam inhaled sharply, "Come on you wuss! Don't tell me you're scared!"

What was he doing? Why would he yell that?

The man grumbled. He clenched his long, sharp machete and stomped down the steps. Every step trembled, and creaked. Sam could see little dust trembling off the steps.

"You little shit. Where are you? I'm going to hang you up like a fish!"

Sam snorted, stumbling back when suddenly a hand wrapped around his mouth. He jumped in surprise, jerking against the lean body against his back. Another arm crossed over his shoulders, dragging him further back into the darkness.

"Shh, it's me."

"Tate?"

"I'm in the back!" Tate yelled instead, his voice echoing through the darkness, "Come on, you baby! Don't back out now, I thought you wanted to gut me!"

Sam whined, gripping at Tate's wrist. He pulled his face away from the hand, and looked up at Tate. Or, well tried too anyway. Sam couldn't see Tate in the darkness.

"Oh! I can't wait to get my hands on you-"

The man's voice abruptly cut off. Sam immediately snapped his head back, squinting his eyes and trying to make out the man.

A high-pitched scream erupted through the darkness.

Sam jumped, "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"But-"

Tate squeezed him, "We're just scaring him."

They're scaring him? How? Sam didn't understand, but a cold chill ran up his spine upon hearing the range a blood-curling screams. Screams that almost sounded like it was coming from all directions.

The sound of something skidded across the ground. Sam felt it tap against his feet, and quickly lowered his frantic eyes. He stared down at the long object which had liquid on it. The longer Sam stared, the more he was able to make out the details.

It was the machete! And it was covered in something!

Sam whined deeply, arching his back in shock, "Tate, Tate, something's wrong! Something's very wrong!"

Tate doesn't reply. No matter how hard Sam struggled to break free from Tate's arms, he couldn't.

He was suddenly able to make out something. Something big, and wide. It was hunched over on all fours, pulling something apart while making a range of gut-wrenching sounds. It was too dark for Sam to truly make it what it was, but the outline of it was too…unnatural.

Another scream reached Sam's ears.

"Stop! Stop! You're hurting him! Please," he cried out, pushing against Tate's body, "Let go! Tate, let go! We have to stop it, we have to-to-"

"Why?" Tate said, "He wanted to hurt us first. Why should we save him?"

Sam scraped his nails against Tate's skin, "Because! It's not right! Stop!"

Suddenly, Tate's arms disappeared. Sam fell to the ground in a loud thud, aches running up and down his backside. He whimpered, and turned over onto his knees and hands, crawling in the direction of the stairs. Sam grabbed onto the tangling cord and yanked as hard as he could, brighten the basement up.

Sam gasped, running towards the crumbled form of the man. He fell to his knees next to him, feeling his insides burn with bile. The man was laying on his back with his arms and legs out like a starfish. The black fabric across his stomach was ripped up revealing a range of red, raw and bloody patterns.

His nose scrunched up, unsure of what to do. He lifted his shaking hands, reaching for the man and just as he was about to touch him, the man groaned loudly. His body twitched, shaking a little.

"A-Are you o-okay?"

The man rolled his head, looking at Sam or in his direction at least. He opened his mouth, as if to speak but blood spilled between his lips. He turned over, and pushed Sam away when he climbed to his, running back up the stairsteps in such amazing display of strength that Sam wondered how hurt he was?

Sam stared after the man mutely. His body slowly beginning to slouch downward, his arms hanging between his legs and shoulders fell.

"Why?"

Jerking at the soft voice, Sam turned around to peer at the blonde, "What?"

"Why?" Tate repeated, frowning deeply, "Why would you do that? He deserved everything that was coming. Why did you save him?"

Sam squinted his eyes, "I…what was that? Why would you attack him like that?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes you did," Sam grumbled, "I saw something, or I think I did…either way he was all cut up! I don't know what you did, but it was wrong!"

Tate bristled. His face twisting with confusion and frustration, "What are you talking about? You saw the machete he was holding, he was going to kill everyone in this house. If we didn't do something, everyone would be laying in a pool of their own blood right now."

"That's…"

Sam's voice died in his throat, because that was true. The man was definitely looking for people to kill, and he had threatened to gut Sam like a fish, to hang him up. Tate was right, the man was going to seriously hurt him, hurt everyone…but did it make it right?

Whatever Tate had set up…whatever Sam thought he had seen…?

"N-no, no, no," Sam gasped, shaking his head, "It's wrong. It's wrong. We shouldn't do that."

Sam climbed to his feet, shakingly stumbling back. He stared at Tate with large owlish eyes.

"Sammy-"

"No," Sam whined, pulling his arm out of Tate's hold, "Tate! It's wrong! You hurt him! You seriously hurt him! We shouldn't have done that! It's wrong, it's wrong."

Tate frowned, "Why? He's not dead! We scared him off, he won't be coming back."

"It doesn't matter!"

Sam's face scrunched up, his eyes becoming glassy. He pulled himself further away from Tate, stepping towards the basement's staircase. He looked back at the blonde thoughtfully, pausing a slightly.

"T-Tate, I don't want-no more. Okay. Just-Just…stay away for now on. Okay-okay. Um. Leave me alone now."

"But Sammy-"

"I don't want to see you anymore," Sam cried.

He spun around, and raced up the stairs. He just had to get away, back to the safety of his room, across from Moira. Was Moira awake? Could he knock on her door, and talk to her? Would she be mad?

"I guess I taught you what real fear is now!"

~#~#~#~

"Judy!

Judy, Judy bo Budy Banana fanna fo Fudy

Fee fy mo Mudy, Judy!"

Sam pouted, singing the words quietly under his breath. He held the feather duster up to the china on display, carefully cleaning them. He felt just awful. Everything inside him was churning every second of the day.

"You better not be scratching any of my Ma's china!"

He turned around with a shake of the head, "Of course not sir."

Patrick rolled his eyes, and suddenly turned his head towards the phone, "Yes, I'm still here. Look I don't know what to tell you, no nothing happened last night."

Sam stared at the man. He watched quietly as Patrick went into another room, he scuffed to himself, rolling his eyes. He liked Chad more. Chad was nice to him at least. Patrick was always looking for something to call him out on. He was convinced Sam was an unruly child, no matter how many times Moira had stuck up for him.

Honestly. Sam's sure he hasn't done anything warrant this.

"Come on everybody!

I say now let's play a game

I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name."

Sam hummed the tune under his breathe, returning his attention back to the fancy china. He had the right mind to just scratch one, just to get back at Patrick but then, Sam knew Patrick would be all over him in a heartbeat.

He grumbled to himself, he was feeling quite bitter today. There was something about seeing all that blood that just put him on edge.

"Can you!"

Sam jumped, spinning around, "Who are you?"

The little girl stared up at him with beady eyes, "Can you rhyme anybody's name!"

"Oh, it's a song."

"Song?"

Sam awkwardly shovelled his feet, his lips pulling into a friendly smile, "Are you here to play with Margaret? Or Angela? I think they're playing hide and seek in the rose garden out back."

"No!" the girl grunted, "Why would I want to play with them?"

"Um, because…you're…?"

The girl scoffed, turning away from and crossing her arms. She humped loudly, grumbling to herself. She wore a bright blue dress with ribbons and bows attached to it, her brown hair was pushed back by a white hairband.

"Oh, there you are."

"Chad," Sam greeted, watching the man cross the dining room, "I was just, um, talking to…"

Chad smiled friendly, waving him off, "It's alright. I believe our little guest must have disturbed you."

The little girl made a face at that, "I didn't do anything! He was singing! I wanted him to rhyme my name too!"

"Singing, huh?"

Sam flushed, shrugging, "It's just a song I've had in my head since…well forever."

"What is it?" Chad asked, straightening himself, "Maybe I could help find it for you?"

Twirling the duster in his hands, Sam hummed thoughtfully. His eyes flickered down to the little girl who was staring at the duster in wonder, shrugging, he held it out for her and smiled when she grabbed it with excitement.

"I think it's called The Name Game?" he said.

"Oh!" Chad laughed, "I know that one. The Name Game by Shirley Ellis?"

"Shirley Ellis?"

"The name game. Shirley! Shirley, Shirley

Bo-ber-ley, bo-na-na fanna

Fo-fer-ley. fee fi mo-mer-ley, Shirley!"

Sam squinted his eyes in thought. The tone was there, but the words. The words were wrong. Shirley? No, it was Judy…wasn't it?

"I…that's wrong…"

Chad tilted his head, "It's wrong?"

"Um…Judy!

Judy, Judy bo Budy Banana fanna fo Fudy

Fee fy mo Mudy, Judy!"

Chad put a hand to chin in thought, "Well, it could be a cover, you remember? The Name Game was sang primarily by Shirley Ellis, but people do make their own? Maybe you could ask your mother?"

"My mother?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, maybe she sang her own version to you when you were young."

Sam blinked slowly in thought. He looked to the side, his teeth biting his bottom lip. Could Moira have sang it to him as a child? It was very possible, he supposed.

"Oh, I should ask her! Mother probably might have!"

Chad smiled, patting him on the shoulder, "You're a good kid, Sam."

"Sam!" the little girl cooed, twirling the duster between her fingers, "That's your name?"

Sam nodded, "Yes. I'm Sam. What's your name?"

"Oh! I'm-"

"Adelaide Langdon! Where the devil are you, little lady!"

All three of them turned to see a woman storming into the kitchen. Her face was pinched into such a tight scrawl that Sam thought it might stick. Her bleached hair was in a tight bob, and wore a floral dress with high-hills.

"Mama!"

"Ah, Mrs Landon," Chad greeted awkwardly, "I was just about to walk young Adelaide back over."

"Addy!" the little girl grunted, stomping her foot, "I hate Adelaide! My name is Addy!"

Chad nodded, "Of course, Addy."

"I'm so sorry," the woman groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, "We used to live here, and she hasn't quite accepted she no longer stays here. Addy, we've spoken about this. You can't keep sneaking over, honey."

Addy pouted deeply, "But I miss them!"

Missed them? Missed who? Sam raised his eyebrows in thought. Who did Addy sneak over to met with? To come see?

"Addy."

Chad chuckled, "Um, it's alright. I mean, she doesn't know better, so it's no bother. She can come over whenever she wants, just stay out of Patrick's way. He's very…briskly. But oh well, he probably wouldn't notice anyway."

Briskly? How can somebody be briskly? And that wasn't the word he would use to describe Patrick. The guys was an asshole, and was up his own ass. Sam really disliked him. Chad deserved so much better.

Poor Chad.

Sam didn't understand what was happening, but he disliked the look on Chad's face whenever Patrick was around.

"That's very kind of you."

The woman paused all of a sudden. A cool expression taking over her face, as she stared at Sam with a look that made Sam want to run and hide. She slowly turned towards him, twisting her arms.

"You're new," she said, "I don't believe I've met you before. Gotta name?"

Sam's eyes widened, "O-Oh! Right! I'm Sam! Samuel O'Hara."

"O'Hara?" the woman repeated with a laugh, "Like the maid?"

Chad frowned, "Sam, here, is Moira's son."

"Moira's son?"

Sam pinched his lips together, "Um, yes? Is there something wrong with my mother?"

"Of course not, honey!" she quickly said, seeming to break out of whatever she had entered. She smiled down at him, stepping closer, "It's nice to met you, Samuel. I am Constance Landon, I am an old friend of your…mothers. We go way back."

"Oh?"

Constance stared at him for a few moments longer, and then turned away. She smiled widely, "It's good to be back in here. I haven't been in here in a long time. Everything is just as I remember it."

"Really?" Chad asked, "I'm working to restore the parts of the house that are damage. I'm excited to see it returned to it's former glory."

"I see, that would be lovely!"

"Would you like to stay for tea?"

"Ohhh! If you don't mind. Samuel, two sugars and a lot of cream," she said, snapping at him.

Sam shared a look with Addy, who giggled up at him, before making his way to the kitchen. There was something up with the woman. She was so strange. Addy followed him, trailing after him in curiosity.

"Sam~" she sang, holding the duster between her hands like a bouquet of flowers, "When did you join?"

Putting the kettle on, Sam glanced down at her, "What do you mean?"

Addy twirled on the tip of her black dolly-shoes, "You know! When did you join the house!"

"You mean, when did I begin to work here?"

"Sure!"

Sam tapped his chin in thought. When did he join the manor? He couldn't remember, honestly. He felt as if he had been all his life.

"Um. Not that long ago? I think?"

Addy giggled, her eyes swirling with something, "Have you met them yet?"

"Met who?"

"You know! The others!"

"Others?"

Sam pouted. He tilted his head in confusion, pulling at his apron. Abby had a look on her face, a look that told him, she knew something he didn't. He swallowed, and shrugged.

"Maybe."

Addy giggled, nodding her head. She twirled herself again, pushing the feather duster out and playfully dusted him.

Sam smiled in amusement. She was odd, but nice. Making the tea, the way Constance wanted it, he brought it back to the dinner room.

"My husband was the spitting image of Van Johnson," Constance said, sighing fondly, "You'd think we'd make little cherub children, fat and lively but it wasn't meant to be."

Addy skipped, "Mama says our beauty was an affront to the gods!"

"From the gods?" Sam asked.

"Yes!"

What a strange thing. Sam hummed thoughtfully, looking down at them in wonder. Was that true? Did Constance's beauty come from the gods and goddess?

Did they exist?

"Was all four of them, down's?" Chad questioned softly, reaching to lay a gentle hand on top of Constances.

Constance stared at the hand, "Or some sort of malady. Expect for one, that is. My precious baby, a model of pure raw physical perfection. He was my gift, but I lost him to other things."

What happened to him? Sam wanted to ask, but he couldn't.

He couldn't help but wonder about Constance son. Why was he? Was he as beautiful as she was making him out to be?

Sam eventually shook the thoughts off.

The neighbours were strange.

~#~#~#~

Sam hummed his song to himself, rocking back and forth. He smiled a little, twisting his arms a little. He wasn't really doing anything, and just allowed himself to be carried away. His body beginning to twirl and twirl and twirl.

Everything around him blurred, as he spun around. He stretched his arms out, his fingers wiggling out in all directions. His eyes slid shut, his lips tugging into a small smile as he turned.

Sam just turned. Spined, round and round. Lights blurred behind his eyelids, his short chocolate brown curls danced around his cherry-shaped face. He should have became dizzy, sick to his stomach but he wasn't. Sam felt find. He just continued to spin, until a hand suddenly took ahold of his.

He immediately came to a halt. His body was in a half-rotate, and tilted his head around to look at the one holding his hand.

"I…"

Sam swallowed, staring into the face of the blonde shaggy-haired face. He hadn't seen him since the break in, since the thing in the basement. Sam just stared, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm sorry," Tate mumbled quietly, "I know you don't want to see me, but…"

Sam carefully turned fully towards the taller male, "Tate."

Tate's eyes widened at the mention of his name, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Do you want to dance with me?"

The blonde blinked in surprise. He inhaled sharply, straightening himself to his full height. His fingers twitched as they curled around Sam's hand.

"Y-You want me too?" he asked quietly.

Sam smiled, "Yeah."

Tate's face brightened up, his brown eyes glowing. He took a step forward and raised his other hand, it was twitching and quivering – he slid his hand around Sam's middle and delicately moved them back.

"I'm not good at this…"

"Neither am I," Sam shrugged, "I just feel like dancing."

Tate licked his lips, "I might step on your feet."

"I'll live."

A strange look appeared across Tate's face, but only for a second. It quickly melted away, and soon, Tate was guiding Sam carefully around the room. Every step he made, had Tate checking their feet.

Sam tried to stay calm but he ended up looking away. His cheeks darkening. Tate's stare was just too intense. Something pierced through him, making his stomach bubble with warmth. His fingers gently pressed into Tate's sweater, a tingle ran through his chest as Tate swirled them around. Sam eventually found his eyes returning to Tate's and felt his insides jump at how dark they were suddenly.

"Um, you're not that bad…"

Tate's hand pressed a little firm against Sam's lower back. It made Sam come closer.

"You're not so bad, yourself. Did you take dancing lessons?"

Sam blinked. Dance lesson? Had he? This did feel quite familiar. Swaying with somebody, twisting and turning together.

"I don't know."

Tate nodded, "I think you're really talented…"

"Thank you."

Twirling once more, they came to a gentle stop. Their hands held together between their chest, their faces close to one another. Sam shivered, feeling the hot breath roll across his lips. They were that close. To close.

…Tate was too close.

~#~#~#~

"Something's wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

Sam frowned, he stretched back on the staircase step. He kicked his legs out, stretching them out so much that it sent chills through him. He raised his head to stare up at the man. He liked Chad. He was nice to talk to.

"Sam?" Chad pressed, tilting his head, "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

Sam frowned deeply, "I think I like somebody?"

Chad blinked. His eyes became soft and tender, "Ah, I get it now. Must be your first time, huh?"

"I think so?"

"You don't remember?"

"No. My head is empty," Sam shrugged, "But I don't know. How would I know if I like somebody? It's all so confusing."

Maybe he should go find Moira instead. It's been quite difficult to find her recently. Sometimes it would take hours for Sam to find her. When they're not working, she would normally be in her bedroom, but recently, she's not there.

"Oh, tough question," Chad nodded, "I think I remember my first love."

Sam twirled his head to him, "Patrick isn't your first?"

"Oh god now," Chad laughed, "I met Patrick three years ago. I'm almost 33 years old, you know. My first love came and went, I think I might have been your age."

Eyebrows creasing, Sam chewed his bottom lip, "What happened? Why didn't you stay with them? Isn't love forever?"

"You're a real sweet kid," Chad sighed. His eyes shimmered fondly, "But you're too naïve. Sam, there's a lot of tough things out there, you'll learn more as you grow up and experience the wonders of love."

"When I grow up?"

Chad patted Sam on the shoulder, "My first love, we were high school sweethearts, but not at the same time."

"What do you mean? How can you be high school sweethearts, but not really?"

"It was a different time back then. Ah, what am I saying? It's still a different time today."

Sam frowned, "I don't understand."

"Let's see, how should I explain this…" Chad paused in thought, putting a hand to his chin, "Um. Okay. Okay. I got it. Okay, so Patrick and I, we're guys – yeah? We're men."

"I know that."

Chad smiled, "Right, so you also know it's not that accepted, right? People aren't too happy with men together or women together."

"Why?"

"It was frowned upon. People thought it was too different," Chad shrugged.

Sam trembled. He twisted his hand into his lap, "Um. Men aren't meant to be together?"

"Of course they are," Chad said, "Sam, just because some people doesn't agree with it, doesn't mean it should affect you, or what you're feeling. You are who you are, nobody can change it."

"That's the reason why you and your sweetheart aren't together?"

Chad nodded solemnly, "That's right. It was different back then, less accepting and more forbidden. Nobody liked things that are different. People don't like things they can't explain, and people like myself are a part of that."

"What was his name?" Sam asked.

The smile that took over Chad's face was beautiful. Sam was lost for words when he saw it, "His name was Corey. He was very sweet, and gentle. He never upset me, never didn't anything to hurt me. He was perfect."

"Why did you leave him?"

"We decided we wasn't right for one another," Chad sighed softly, closing his eyes, "But you won't have to worry about that. I'm sure the person you like is pretty girl."

"It's not."

"What do you mean?"

Sam shook his head, "It's not a pretty girl, it is a pretty boy."

"Oh. Oh," Chad gasped, eyes widening in realization, "Okay, well that's okay too."

"But you just said-"

Chad shook his head. He sat down next to Sam, and put a fatherly-arm around his shoulders, "Listen to me, Sam and listen well. Sometimes you won't know unless you take the step. What you're feeling it's scary. I know. It's scary and frightening, but it will always be worth it. No matter what you do, don't let other people invade it. It's your feelings, your emotion, and your love."

"Your relationship."

Sam was quiet. His face heated up a little, "My relationship?"

"That's what you want, right?" Chad asked, "With this guy. The pretty boy. You want a relationship."

"What is a relationship?"

Chad was quiet for a good moment, "A relationship is a companionship. Two people come together to build something magical between them. Relying on eachother, supporting eachother and working towards the future. To be together."

"To be together…" Sam repeated softly, "Like hand holding?"

A sot laugh escaped Chad, "Sure, but it's more than that. Kissing, and touching. Only ever do that with the person you love."

Not quite understanding, but deciding to just go with the follow. Sam nodded.

"What should I do then?"

"Sam you gotta get out. A young kid like you shouldn't be stuck in a house like all the time. Get out, and enjoy live a little more."

"Ask him on a date."

A date?

"Sam?"

Sam paused, looking back at him in confusion.

"Have you – nevermind."

~#~#~#~

"It's almost Halloween!"

Sam tilted his head, "It is."

Abby gapped, "I'm so excited! Sam! Mama's gonna take me trick and treating!"

"What are you going to dress up as?" he asked.

The little girl tapped her chin in thought, "Hmm. I wanna be a pretty girl, Sam. I'm not pretty. I want to be like the girls in the magazine."

"You're pretty."

Abby jerked, "I am?"

"Of course you are," Sam smiled, "I think you're the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."

Abby squealed. She held hands to her cheeks, "You think so? You think so? I'm gonna go tell Mama! I'm pretty! I'm beautiful!"

"You are. You are."

Sam laughed. He waved as she raced out the house, he shook his head and turned away from the door. He trailed through the door, and into the kitchen, where he found a mess of pumpkins.

"Mother, you're carving."

Moira chuckled, "I have always carved. Every year I make a pumpkin."

"You do?"

"I do."

Sam came to stand to her. His eyes gazed down at the pumpkins littering the table in awe, "That's amazing. You're so talented, it looks super scary."

"Thank you fear. I do enjoy crafts, very much."

"You do?"

Moira smiled, "Yes, I just said so."

Sam sheepishly laughed quietly and scratched his cheek. He inched around the table, staring down at the pumpkins.

"Would you like carve one? Samuel?"

"I can?"

"Of course."

"…But I don't know how," Sam whispered quietly.

Moira pushed a pumpkin towards him, "I can show you how too."

Sam brighten up immediately. He nodded excited and took the carving knife. He followed Moira's direction, his hand shook a bit but he tried his best. In the end, his pumpkin was nothing like Moira's.

Moira's was perfect. Perfectly scary, and cut just right. Sam's was all over the place, sloppy and barely looked like face.

"It's so bad."

"It's perfect," Moira said.

Sam pouted, "You think so?"

"I do."

He beamed happily. He watched as Moira picked the pumpkin up as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Sam smiled, becoming quite proud with himself.

"I was talking to Chad, today."

Moira hummed, "About what?"

"He said I should go outside more. That I shouldn't stay cooped up in this house," Sam said, "He said it was unhealthy."

"Oh, you mean spend more time in the gardens?" the old lady asked, "That's wonderful. I'm sure the children will enjoy you playing with them more."

Sam hummed. He did enjoy playing hide and seek, or tag with the kids. But no. He didn't mean that…

"I mean behind the wall."

"No."

Sam gasped, "Why?"

"Samuel, I forbid you. You are not allowed to go beyond that wall. It's dangerous."

"Why is it dangerous?" Sam whined, "I want to know. I want to go outside and-"

Moira spun around, "Stop. Just stop. You're not allowed to. That's final."

"I don't understand!"

Sam stormed out of the kitchen. He was confused. Why was feeling so…what? Angry? Why was he angry? Why wasn't he allowed to go behind the wall? Sam had seen people out there, the couple in the rain, Addy always went back and forth! Why can't he?

He was shaking. Shaking so much, and his fingers dug into his skin. He stomped up to his bedroom, kicking the door open and suddenly pausing. Sam blinked, and then squinted his eyes.

"Um. Hi."

Tate awkwardly smiled, "Er, sorry…I was, um, just curious."

"Curious? About what?" Sam asked, closing his bedroom door, "Do you often come to my room?"

The blonde sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "Um. Sometimes. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have."

"It's okay. I'm not mad," Sam shrugged, "There's really nothing in here anyway."

"I don't know, I think your room is pretty nice."

Sam snorted, "Nice? You think so? It's empty, like me."

"You're not empty, Sammy. Please stop referencing to yourself as empty."

He swallowed, Sam suddenly became shy. He flopped down next to Tate on the bed, "You think so?"

"I know so. You're fall of so much," Tate said quietly, "Don't sell yourself short…okay."

Sam shyly nodded, "If you think so."

Tate frowned, he took a hold of Sam's hands, "Sammy. You're amazing. You're kind, and sweet. You're welcoming to the ones nobody wants, nobody needs and-and you're just so beautiful."

Sam just stared.

"You think that?" he whispered.

Tate nodded, "You're the light of this house. You're not empty Sammy, you're far from it."

Sam turned away, looking down at his lap. His lips quivered as he pressed them together.

"What is it?"

"Mother won't let me outside," Sam sighed, "She said I am forbidden. I don't know why."

Tate was quiet for a brief moment, "I get why she doesn't want you to go outside. It is dangerous."

"You know something about it?"

"Um. Sammy, you should listen to-to your mother. It, it is dangerous and you can get hurt."

Sam frowned, he turned to Tate fully, pushing his face into the others, "Why? Why? I want to go outside. It can't be dangerous. It just can be, I've seen them. I've seen the people outside, on the other side of the wall, and are fine. None of them are hurt, or anything. So why can't I?"

Tate pressed his lips together into a thin line, his eyes darkened – his face becoming darker too. It sent a chill down Sam's spine, and something twisted inside him when Tate's mouth opened.

"Chad says we should go on a date."

"What!"

Sam bites back an amused smirk, "Chad said we should go on a date. That's why I want to go beyond the wall."

"You want to go on a date…with me?" Tate said softly, pointing at himself.

"Yes. Is that wrong?"

"No!" Tate gasped, "It's not. I like you, a lot Sammy."

"Oh, well, I like you too. Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Tate smiled sweetly, "I'd like that…Sammy, we can go beyond the wall once. Okay?"

"Really?"

"Yes, but only once. Once a year, and only if we're together."

"Only if we're together?"

"Um…otherwise it'll be very dangerous. But if we're together, it won't be."

Sam nodded, his eyes sparkling, "Okay. Yeah, okay. I understand Tate. Once a year we can cross the wall, and only together, because together we're strong enough."

"Yes, that's right."

Tate rubbed his thumbs against the sensitive skin of Sam's hands, "What did you want to do for our date? Anything in mind?"

"No idea!"

Laughing, Tate shook his head, "Because your head is so empty, right?"

"Right!" Sam grinned, "I really don't know what's out there, so I wouldn't know what to do on a date."

Tate raised a gentle hand, lightly cupping Sam's cheek, "It's alright. I'll figure it out. There's a beach near here. We can go there, I'm sure you'll like it, or, we could go to the local park. That is a nice place too."

"Ohhh, I don't remember either!" Sam hummed, finding himself leaning into Tate's touch. He liked it, "I've heard about the beach. From Margaret, she said there's a lot of sand and water and that the park is very green. It has lots, and lots of bugs. I was always curious about that."

Sam paused, noticing Tate leaning in closer, "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Tate asked, "I want to kiss you."

Tate didn't give Sam a chance to reply. Their lips pressed together gently. Tate's lips were soft, and very warm. How odd. Sam hadn't noticed how cold he was until them. Still, he gasped softly at the feeling, and stiffened up. It was only when Tate's hand slid around the small of his back, rubbing gently, did he relax and allow himself to be pulled closer.

It was so strange. So strange to be kissed. Sam hadn't realized he would enjoy. He found himself whining when they separated.

"How was that?" Tate asked, short of breath.

Sam licked his lips, shivering as he realized he could still taste the other man. He lifted his bashfully eyes to Tate, and cupped his face.

"It was perfect."

Tate smiled widely, and meeting Sam halfway for another kiss. This time, Sam was tugged onto Tate's lap, which only gave Sam levigate. He wrapped his arms around Tate's neck, his fingers trailing up his neck to his hairs.

Oh. His hair was very soft.

"What was that!" Sam gasped, pulling away.

Tate stared up at him with a glassy-expression, "That's normal."

"It is? It came from me!"

Cupping the back of Sam's head, Tate dragged him back into a kiss, "This time, open your mouth. You'll taste more of me that way."

"Open my mouth-oh."

His tongue.

Sam trembled. He tightened his arms around Tate, feeling his tongue slid into his mouth. His hands jerked, tugging on the blonde hair as their tongues made contact. It happened again, and this time, Tate didn't allow him to pull away.

He whined into Tate's mouth. He slid across Tate's lap, finding himself pressed flat up against Tate's body.

"Can – we – get – ice cream – on – our – date?"

Tate ran his hands up and down Sam's back, "If you like."

Sam preened at that.

Tate brushed their lips together once more.

~#~#~#~

A date.

He was going on a date.

Sam was giddy as he skipped around his room. He wasn't sure what to do, to get ready…but he did what felt right and what felt right, was dressing in his most favourite and comfortable clothing. His multiple coloured sweater and skinny jeans. The clothes Moira had found him all those months ago.

He peeked out his window, staring at the garden wall. He was going to behind the wall, what would it be like on the other side? What type of dangerous things were hiding out there? Sam pouted in wonder, what things was he supposed to be careful off?

What was Moira, and the others scared off?

Ah. Sam had so many questions, but honestly, he decided to shovel them. Instead, he nervously checked himself in his mirror. His chocolate hair fell into his wide eyes, Sam tried to push it to the side, but it fell back.

Calming himself, Sam turned away from the mirror and walked out his bedroom. His fingers twisting around the bottom of his sweater, shivering a little. He was too excited about this. Sam couldn't stop smiling, wondering what Tate had in mind.

Tate.

"Oh, don't you look cute."

Sam jumped, spinning around. His face burned, and sheepishly fidgeted.

"Hello Chad."

Chad climbed down the steps to met him at the bottom floor, "Where are you going, all dressed up?"

"I'm not that dressed up," Sam hummed, rocking on his feet, "Um. I'm going on a date!"

"You are?" Chad smiled in amusement.

Sam nodded shyly, "I told him, I wanted to go on a date and he agreed!"

"That's great! I knew you could do it, Sam."

Chad patted him on the shoulder like normally. He chuckled, with sparkling eyes, "Stay safe out there, and don't do anything silly. Never put out on your first date."

Sam frowned, "Put out?"

"You know."

He knew what? Sam didn't understand. Never put on what during his first date?

"Sam?" Chad began quietly, "You do know about the birds and the bees?"

"The what?"

Chad's face morphed into a shocked expression. A awkwardness over took him, he turned away while rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced off to the side randomly, eyes flickering back and forth.

"Um. Sam, wasn't this taught in school?"

"School?"

"You don't know what school is?"

"Er, I don't know. Maybe?"

"Were you home-schooled?"

Sam clocked his head thoughtfully. Home-schooled? A tingle was in the back of his head, the harder he tried to think about school, the more his head felt funny. Nothing. Nothing. His head was empty after all.

"I dunno," Sam shrugged, "I don't understand."

Chad blinked, "But Sam, you have to know about the bird and the bees. On this date, don't do anything you don't want too."

"Don't do anything I don't want too?"

"Yes. I can explain bird and the bees later for you, if you'd like. But for now, while you go on a date, don't let the guy pressure you into anything. Especially if it evolved underneath the clothes."

Sam perched his lips, his eyebrows creasing. He knew this. He knew this! It sounded so, so familiar! Like he's had a talk like this before! Ah! His head had something in it!

"I think I know!"

"You do?" Chad worriedly asked.

Sam nodded with a smile, "Sex. You're talking about sex."

"Um, yes. Yes I am…"

"Right! I know all about sex. Don't worry, I won't have sex on my first date."

"…That's good," Chad awkwardly said, "I'm guessing your mother didn't explain it as the birds and the bees, and just went straight for the throat, huh?"

Sam shrugged, "Dunno. I just know about sex now. My heads empty, always empty, but just now, I remembered. I remember! Don't have sex unless you love the person, and is very comfortable! Be on guard!"

"That's right," Chad sighed in relief, but there was still a concerned look in his eye, "Sex is only for when you're happy, comfortable and in love. Don't jump on the first, er, bus that comes. Be very guarded of your, er, V-card."

V-card?

Sam laughed, "I'll guard my V-card! Can I go now? Tate's waiting for me!"

"Tate?" Chad smirked.

"Yes. Tate, he's my first friend and I like him a lot."

"He's the boy you're going on a date with?" Chad questioned.

Sam blushed, "Yes. We're going to the beach, or park, I dunno which one, and we might get ice cream. Oh. Tate was my first kiss! Ah, we kissed when I asked him. I've never been kissed before-"

"You're rambling," Chad chuckled, "You're that nervous, huh?"

"Um…"

He shyly looked down, his face burning, "Yes. I really like him, and I really want him to like me too."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure he already does," Chad said, "Just go with the flow. If it's meant to be, it will."

If it's meant to be, it will?

The smile that took over Sam's lips was more gentle. More soft, and shy. He nodded slowly, twisting his hands together in front of himself.

"Don't stay out long either," Chad said, "I know I don't have the right to parent you, but this is my house. I want you home before midnight."

Sam laughed, bouncing a little on his feet, "Okay! I will! I will!"

"And be safe out there. It's a bit crazy out there, especially today. It might as well be one of the most crazy nights for kids like you, so be careful and safe out there."

"Ohhhh! Okay!"

What did that mean? Maybe Tate will know? The most crazy night for kids like himself? Crazy! He laughed to himself, and turned around, he waved one last time at Chad before he eagerly skipped towards the door.

He came to a stop in the doorway, staring across the garden. His eyes immediately zooning to the garden wall with an sudden nervous twitch.

"Sammy?"

He smiled, "Tate."

The shaggy blonde haired man returned the smile, his dimples poking out. He held a hand out to him, stretching his fingers out wide. He was standing just outside the houses porch.

"Are you ready?"

Sam sharply inhaled. He looked between Tate's hand and the garden wall. Sam grabbed onto Tate's hand, feeling a warm sprinkle between their skin. Sam abruptly relaxed, but still smiled excitedly and happily.

"Yeah."

Tate guided him down the pathway of the house, coming to the gates. The two immediately stopped, staring at the gates. Tate squeezed Sam's hand, rubbing his fingertips along the skin.

What would happen once they cross the barrier? Would they explode? Or blow up? Would something come running out form the shadows, and leap onto them? Rip them apart with long claws and sharp teeth?

The two shared a look and stepped out.

Nothing happened.

Sam blinked in confusion. He looked around, as if he was expecting to see people in cloaks or something, but there was nothing. His attention was drawn back to Tate when he squeezed his hand again.

"Are you ready for some fun?"

"Yes!"

~#~#~#~

There was so many people dressed up in costumes. Sam watched as another couple of people walked past them, dressed up in such strange costumes.

"It's Halloween?"

Tate swung their held hands gently, "Yeah, didn't you know?"

"No," Sam blinked owlishly, "We could have dressed up!"

"Oh yeah? What would you have wanted to dress up as?" Tate asked softly, lightly tugging Sam closer. Their shoulders brushed together, and he teasingly nudged him, his eyes twinkling, "A couple costume?"

Sam flushed a little, "Um, we could have. It would have been fun."

"We'll do it next year," Tate reinsured with a deep toned hum.

Next year? They were only allowed behind the wall once a year!

Halloween! Every Halloween!

Sam gasped, "Next year? You want to go out again, next year?"

Tate chuckled. He turned towards Sam, and tugged him closer, raising his other hand to gently cupped Sam's cheek. He brushed his thumb along Sam's cheek, and leaning in closer.

"I want to go out with you every year. I want to be with you forever."

"F-Forever?"

"Don't you?"

The way Tate said that. There was something shuddering abut it. His tone, and the look in his eye, it was almost toe-curling dark. It made Sam's stomach giddy with something he didn't know. But Sam immediately leaned against Tate's body, brushing his lips sweetly against his.

"Yes," Sam hummed quietly, "Yes, I want to be with you forever too."

"Good."

Finally, Tate kissed him just right. Their mouths locking together, and tongues playfully rubbing together. It sent waves and waves of giggling heat. Sam reached his free hand up to run through the mess, soft blonde hair.

Ah. He would never get bored of this. Tate was like a drug.

"I did it again."

"You'll always do that," Tate teased, laughing, "I will make those sounds too, eventually."

"Really?"

Tate kissed him again. Their warm lips pressing together, perfectly. They separated slowly, their foreheads resting together. Blonde and brown missing together across the top of their heads.

"Whoa…I don't think I'll ever get used to that…" Sam mumbled shyly.

Tate brushed his thumb along Sam's cheek, "Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"Sammy, I'm so grateful to meeting you. Before you came into the manor, it was so dark and cold. I was so lonely. Everything was just-"

"Empty?"

Tate snorted with a smile, "Sure. Let's say that. It was empty. My purpose was empty, and it was just so sad. Despair was everywhere, but then you came. You came, and everything was bright. Everything was warm, and it was just so much better."

Sam's face became hotter and hotter.

"I can't compare now to my past, I don't remember before, but…I do know, it's just better. I feel it inside, I know it's just…better. I like it. I like it a lot, I like being with you and-and-"

They kissed again.

"Do you wish you could remember?" Tate asked.

"Why?" Sam said, "Why would I want to remember? If I am already happy? I have my mother, the other people of the house, I've made so many friends…and I have you."

Tate blinked slowly, his own face becoming pink. His pretty long eyelashes fluttering, his eyes glassy and dark all of a sudden.

"And I have you, too. Always."

Sam laughed, pulling away. He twirled away from the man, and pressed a hand to his chin.

"What does that make us?"

"What do you want us to be?"

"I don't know. Something like Chad and Patrick? But not like them! Patrick's an ass!"

Tate laughed, "He's an asshole, alright."

"He's mean too!"

Sam moved around the street lamp, wrapping his arms around it loosely. He hanged off it, with his head luring to the side. He stared at the row of wide windowed stores, his eyes catching something behind the glass. Sam twirled around the lamp, and skipped up to the glass.

He leant in close, his eyes becoming large and round.

"What's wrong?" Tate asked, walking up behind him.

"Three."

Tate frowned, his eyebrows creasing together. He stared through the glass, staring at the range of bright and colourful cartoon papers.

"What's three?"

"I had three!"

"Three what, Sammy?"

Sam spun around, laughing, "Siblings! I was the baby!"

"You remember?" Tate asked, eyes narrowing.

"No."

"You don't?"

Sam sighed, looking at the cartoon paper. His eyes staring at the cartoon, flower patch baby-faced family. A picture of a brother and sister.

"I don't remember," he said, "But I just have this feeling."

"That you had three siblings?" Tate asked, taking Sam's hand again. He threaded their fingers together, almost possessively.

Sam hummed, "Yeah. I don't know if I had brothers or sisters. I just know it was three. Three siblings. Dunno if we're close or not."

"Well, it doesn't matter. You're with me now, so you don't have to try to remember. You can forget it now. Come with me," Tate said sternly, tugging on Sam's hand and pulling him away from the pictures, "You don't need them anyway. You have me."

Sam smiled, "You're right."

As the two walked along the streets, Sam couldn't help but stare at everything in sight. His eyes gazed at every small or big thing, becoming more and more interested in everything they passed. However, something tickled in the back of his head with familiarity. It was so tiny, that Sam overlooked it without much thought.

They walked a store that had a wall of screens. Many television screens lined up, all had the same show. If Sam paused to look at it, he would have seen two woman. They would have been sitting on a talk show, or something like that. One was interviewing the other.

But Sam didn't. Instead he bounced forward to walk next to Tate, his head resting on the boy's shoulder. Tate smiled, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Are you sure you want ice cream?"

"No. I'm alright."

He had been so excited to eat ice cream, but now that he could. Sam realized he didn't want it.

Tate sighed, and kissed the top of his head.

Sam smiled bashfully in return, and as they walked, he noticed a couple going in the opposite direction. The guy had an arm around the girl's shoulders, like how Tate was holding him. However, what really caught Sam's eye was the girl. The girl had an arm wrapped the guy's torso.

Shyly, he looked back and forth from the couple. He raised an arm and slid it around Tate's torso, leaning further into his side.

Tate grinned.

"Tate, you're always talking about me," Sam hummed, "What about you?"

Tate frowned, "What did you want to know?"

"Anything! I know nothing about you! And you're my-my, um…"

"Boyfriend."

Sam blushed, "That."

Tate buried his face into Sam's hair. Was he smelling his hair? How strange. But oddly, Sam liked it.

"You always smell like oranges and lemons."

Sam blinked innoncelty, "I do?"

Tate nodded, "I like it. It's so different to the house."

"Oh. What does the house smell like?"

"Nothing like you," Tate hummed.

Sam laughed. He stretched himself up onto his tiptoes, catching Tate in a kiss. A soft and gentle, their lips moving together lightly. A tingling twirl ran through his stomach as Tate cupped the back of his head, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

It was good.

His toes curled, heat and warmth spreading along his skin. Especially where Tate was touching him. The caressing was making his whole being giddy. He didn't even notice when Tate's hold on him became much tighter, it should have hurt but it didn't.

Sam was suddenly pushed up against a wall. A very cold, and dry wall. His back pressed firmly against the bricks, hands caressing him, rubbing along his arms and down his sides. He was pushed further and further into the wall, the mouth sealed against his was becoming more and more desperate.

His sweater was beginning to rise, the sensitive flesh of his back rubbed against the rough texture of the wall. It would definitely leave a burn.

A squeal escaped Sam's mouth. He was hosted higher up against the wall, large, warm hands held his things…and then…he felt it.

Something pressed against him. Right between his thighs. It was very hot, and very hard.

"What is that!"

Tate blinked, leaning back with glassy almost black eyes. No, they were black. Black, and shiny, Sam could see his own reflection.

"What?"

Sam flushed, his eyes lowering to look between their hips. How very curious. Testily, he rocked his hips and there it was again. He trembled, hips quivering and jerking forward.

Tate grabbed Sam chin and yanked him back into a kiss. This time he grounded harder, a strange friction growing between them. Tate slid a hand underneath Sam's already raised sweater, sliding his fingers up his side, and scrapping his nail – almost scratching. Soon afterward, Tate pressed his nails harsher, and dragged them along the sensitive flesh.

"Ah, that stings," Sam whined.

Tate spoke against Sam's mouth, "Your skin is so soft."

Sam sighed. It really did feel good. A strange good that left a puddle in his gut, twirling repeatedly until his head was dizzy. Every time he felt Tate's fingers touch his skin, had him whining.

Bravely, Sam mimicked Tate. His hands sunk into Tate's clothes, his fingers shyly running underneath the shirt. As his fingertips brushed along the heated skin, he gasped into Tate's mouth and smoothly spread his hands across Tate's back.

Tate groaned. He rolled his hips, forcing the friction between them to become even more intense.

Sam's legs jerked. They shakingly crossed around Tate's hips. Tate's hand running further up his side, and sliding around to his chest. As soon as his fingers brushed Sam's nipple, the brunette yelped.

Why was it so hot? Why was it so hard to breath?

Why did it feel so good?

Tate's hot mouth suckled down Sam's neck. His tongue running along the skin like a thirsty man. Sam was struggling to breath, his face a bright tomato red colour, his eyes were glassy. He moved one hand from Tate's back, to tangle itself into the blonde hair.

"Tate, I feel funny."

"It's okay, baby. It's okay, I'm here."

Sam gasped, his eyes rolling back into his head. His legs clamping down around Tate's waist as tingles ran up his spine, and biting in the base of his neck. Or had Tate bitten down on his neck?

The two panted, short of breath. Their faces were close, foreheads touching and noses lightly touching. Sam whimpered, he leant forward and buried his face into Tate's shoulder.

What was that? Was that sex? It was sexual, wasn't it?

Tate held him possessively, stroking a hand down Sam's back.

"Sammy."

Sam raised his head, peering into Tate's face sheepishly. He smiled, "I'm so embarrassed."

"Why?" Tate asked, eyebrows creasing, "Do you not-"

"It was amazing. I've never felt anything like that before."

"Me neither. I want to with you so badly, that's never happened to me before. You're the first person to ever, gain my attention like this."

Sam's eyes widened, "R-Really?"

"I'm not exactly somebody that's desired…"

"Are you serious?" Sam gasped, "Tate, you're gorgeous! You're exactly what everyone wants!"

Tate smiled, kissing him again.

"You're gorgeous."

Sam grinned, "You're so strange! But I like that!"

"Oh? I'm the strange one," Tate teased, "That's rich."

Sam laughed, he lightly hit Tate's shoulder.

Tate stepped back, letting Sam down from the wall. It was a little crazy to think Tate had held up against that wall. As Sam moved, an strange sensation between his legs. His nose scrunched up in displeasure.

What was that?

The blonde gave Sam an searching look, a sweet smile taking over his face. He held his hand out, and Sam eagerly grabbed it. A comfortable silence filled the air, and Tate lead Sam away from the alleyway. Sam moved closer to Tate, leaning his head against the blonde's shoulder.

"I couldn't decide," Tate said, "I couldn't pick where I wanted to take you. Both are precious to me, but in the end, I decided on here."

Sam made a soft sound, raising his head to stare ahead of himself. His eyes grow wide with excitement, he gasped.

"Whoa."

"You're not disappointed?"

"Why?"

Tate awkwardly look off to the side, "It's not the beach."

"I don't care were we go, as long as we're together!"

The park was beautiful. Sam was left speechless as the two entered it. It was very open, with large bare trees spread across the yellow hills. Orange leaves danced around their feet. The main thing was the blazing bonfire in the middle. The flames were high, and bright. It crackled and howled. Soft music surfed the air, with a handful of people standing around the bonfire.

Tate gently took him to the more isolated side of the bonfire. Where the two sat down on a small hill, watching the spitting fire.

Sam scanned the park. He watched the other kids, they looked to be the same age of himself and Tate, but Sam couldn't be sure. They were laughing, chatting, and dancing. The kids were either hold a blue cup or a red cup.

"What is this?"

"It's a party," Tate explained quietly, "It happens every year. It's the annually Halloween bonfire party."

"Oh," Sam hummed.

The brunette wiggled a little, inching closer to his new boyfriend. He laid against Tate's side, getting comfortable. His wide eyes couldn't turn away from the sight in front of him. It was amazing. He had never seen anything like it before. There was so many pumpkins stashed around, too.

Tate slid an hand around Sam's middle, resting his hand on top of his stomach.

"It's not normally this busy…"

"You come here often then?"

"I used too," Tate sighed, "It was more quiet. More empty back then. I would come here when I felt like the world was closing in to much, and I just couldn't breath. I'd watch the leaves change colour, and just think about how awful my life was."

Sam frowned, turning in Tate's embrace to look up at him, "Your life couldn't have been that awful."

"Ah," Tate smiled sadly, "It was. My life was one massive joke."

"Tate…"

The blonde closed his eyes, hissing through his teeth, "I hated high school. I was treated like an insect. A bug under a microscope. Always being looked at, judged and probed. I couldn't just be me, I had to be what other people wanted me to be."

"You're not a bug."

"Thanks."

Sam pouted, brushing his lips against Tate's, "I'm serious. You're amazing, I'm so happy I got to met you. Even thought I can't remember anything from before, I know I had nothing as good as you. You made my life better."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

Tate pulled him into another kiss, their mouths sliding together. Sam whined as he opened his mouth, and allowed Tate to re-enter. Their tongues beginning slid against one another, wrapping together and sending tomatoes of warmth and heat through Sam.

Suddenly the sound of a throat clearing gained their attention.

Parting, they two of them turned to look up at a woman. A girl standing over them, her massive golden curls a mess, her skin looked sweaty and dirty. Her face was heavily applied with makeup. Her clothes were at least a size too small for her.

Sam blinked awkwardly. Unaware of the dark stare on Tate's face.

"Hey you twooooo~" she slurred, "What'yah doing hiding back here?"

"We wanted to be alone."

"Alone~ That's no fun! Come hang out with me!"

Sam sheepishly peeked between the strange girl and Tate. He nervously smiled at her, "Um. No, we're alright. Um."

"Aw!" she whined loudly, "You're so boringggggg! At least have a drink!"

"A drink?"

Tate grunted, "No. No thank you."

The blonde haired girl pouted, "Why not? Who comes to a party and not drink? Just, here, have this!"

Sam jerked. His eyes grow wide as she thrusted her red coloured cup into his face.

"No. We don't want it," Tate grumbled.

"Come on!"

"No."

The girl whined loudly, like a kicked puppy. She stomped forward, leaning down to grab Sam's chin with her other hand. She pressed the tip of the red cup against his mouth, using two fingers to force Sam's lips to part.

"Just try it! You'll like it!"

Sam winced, he tried to pull his face out of the girl's hand.

Tate grabbed her wrist, "Stop it! He doesn't want it! Just leave us alone!"

Stumbling back, the girl blinked blurringly down at them.

"Fine! What effs! Assholes!"

Sam rubbed his chin, watching the girl stumble back to the bonfire. Her drink having fallen to the ground by his feet. He awkwardly reached for it, picking it up and peer inside. There was still a little left inside.

"Are you alright?" Tate asked.

"I think so…"

Sam stared into the pinkish liquid, "What is this?"

"Nothing good," Tate said, taking the cup from him, "You don't want to drink that crap."

"But what is it?"

"Alcohol."

"Alcohol?" Sam squirmed.

Tate nodded, "Yes."

"Can't I try some?"

"No."

Sam frowned, whining quietly, "Why not?"

"Because you won't like it."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure."

Sam sighed. He turned away as Tate threw the cup away, the liquid spray along the yellow grass. His eyes returned to the flickering hot flames, he could see the kids drinking so much alcohol and couldn't help but feel a little resented that Tate wouldn't let him try a tiny sip.

"Don't be mad at me, please…"

Looking back at Tate, Sam's insides twisted. Tate looked really hurt, his eyes softening and his arms wrapping around him.

"Please. I'm just trying to protect you."

"I'm not mad," Sam said, "I'm curious, that's all."

"I'm sorry."

Sam smiled, "I trust your judgement."

Tate buried his face into Sam's neck. He kisses along the soft skin, making Sam sigh.

"Tate, I've been wonder, what happened in the basement?"

"Nothing. It was a prank, remember."

"A prank?" Sam pouted, "I saw something."

Tate shook his head, "You saw my friend, is all. They helped scare him."

"You're friend?"

"Yes."

Sam's eyebrows creased. Tate's friend? He doesn't remember another person being in the basement with them, or was there? His head was already empty as it was, maybe he simply became more empty? Had he just forgot?

"Did I forget them?"

Tate kissed him again, "Maybe."

"I don't remember seeing another person?"

"Then you must have."

"Okay."

Tate said he must have forgotten his friend, so he must have. Sam sighed softly, smiling a little as he turned his head to rest against Tate's collarbone. It was really nice, to have somebody hold him.

It was just too…suffocating but not in a bad way. Sam didn't understand, but he liked it.

Sam didn't know how long the two had sat there, watching the bonfire. The music was luring. At times it was loud, and annoying, other times it was soft and slow. Sam enjoyed it all, storing it away in the back of his mind.

"We have to go now."

Breaking out of his drowsiness, Sam rubbed his eyes. He yawned a little, and tilted his head, Tate already climbing to his feet.

"Why?"

Tate paused, swallowing thickly, "We just do."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

Sam frowned. He raised an eyebrow, and glanced around. Tate had been very calm and relaxed most of the evening. Why had he suddenly changed? What had made him suddenly anxious, and jumpy?

"Sammy," Tate said, gently taking his hand, "Please, we got to leave."

Allowing Tate to pull him to his feet, Sam kept his eyes on the bonfire. This time, he noticed few kids staring at them from the other side. Maybe they were friends of the blonde? The girl that had tried to make him drink alcohol?

Is that what freaked Tate out?

"Tate?"

"Please Sammy. Please."

Quietly, Sam nodded. He didn't want to return to the house yet, but Tate looked frightened all of a sudden. He wrapped his hand around Tate's and squeezed with a warm smile. Tate returned the smile, it was more tight-lipped and nervous.

Tugging a little, Tate speed walked them back the way they came. They walked through the park, as they went, Sam felt the back of his hairs stand up on end. Eyes were drilling into them, and when he nervously looked, he saw the group of kids staring at them with hawk eyes.

Why?

Why were they staring? Sam's never seen them in his whole life before.

"Tate?"

Tate stiffened a little, "Not yet."

Oh. Sam looked away, staring down at his feet. The two was silent, walking briskly along the street. It was a little more busy then before. More adults then children. Sam glanced over his shoulder, seeing the group of kids trailing along behind them.

All of them was staring in silence.

"They're…they're following us…"

"I know," Tate grunted, "Don't worry. They won't be able to follow us back pass the wall."

Was this the danger everyone was talking about? Was those kids part of the danger outside the house? Outside the garden wall?

"Who are they?"

Tate doesn't answer.

Sam frowned deeply. He turned away from the group behind them, and returned his eyes in front of himself. Seeing the large manor coming into view, at the top of the hill, sent his chest aching. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to stay out here.

He stopped right in front of the gates.

Tate stood on the other side of the gates, their hands being directly in the middle of the two sides. Tate squinted his eyes, gazing at Sam with a unreadable expression.

"Sammy…" he began, "You have to come back."

Sam blinked, "Why?"

"I can't explain it all right now, but please. Sammy, you've got to come back with me."

"I don't want too."

"Sammy…"

A laugh came from behind them. Sam jumped in surprise, he turned around to find the group of kids a little closer now. They were standing across the street from them, but one of them, a girl was standing in the middle of the road.

"You don't have to go back if you don't want too," she said, "You can stay with us, instead."

Tate glared, "Shut up."

"What's wrong Tate?" growled one of the guys, "Upset that not everyone wants to be a coward, and hide away in Mommy's little house?"

Sam stared at them, or well, more at the girl nearest to him. She was a cheerleader. He stared at in aware, red painted her chest, going down her arms and legs – spraying along her cheek. A hole was in the middle of her chest, as if she had been attacked by a knife or shot?

"How about it, Sammy?"

The girl jumped, almost gleefully towards him. Her skirt spraying out around her hips, she held a red-stained hand out to him.

"You don't have to go back there, if you don't want too."

"I don't?"

The girl smiled widely, "No. You can stay with us, instead."

"Stop," Tate growled, tugging on Sam but not being able to pull him back into the garden, "Sammy, don't listen to them. They're trying to trick you."

"Us! We're trying to trick him! Oh no! That's all you Tate! It's your game, isn't it? Manipulating poor souls to get what you want! We're trying to help him!"

Tate glared, "No you're not. You're just trying to get at me."

"We have a right too!"

Sam frowned, "I don't understand-"

"They're bad," Tate said quickly, "If you go with them, we'll never see eachother again."

"What?" Sam whimpered, "I don't want that-"

The girl scuffed, "Sam. Sammy, listen to me. Listen to me, I'm not lying to you. He only wants to use you. Everything he has told you is a lie, once he has got what he wants, he will leave you."

"No I won't," Tate hissed, "Stop trying to confuse him."

"Why should I go with you?" Sam asked, turning around to face the girl, "I don't know you. I don't know any of you."

The cheerleader sighed, her eyes becoming sad, "Because we're the same. You and I, you're the same of all of us. Being in there is bad for you, being around them – him, isn't going to help you."

"I don't understand…"

The girl ran had hands along her body. Her face becoming more tender with sadness and pity. The way she moved her hands, it made Sam wonder if she was trying to clue him in on something…but what? He didn't know. He could only stare in confusion.

"Poor kid. He doesn't realize…"

All of a sudden, the world around him spun. Sam yelped, stumbling back as Tate tugged as hard as he could. The pair of them crumbled to the ground in the garden, and Tate kicked the gate shut.

Sam grunted, his head hitting the ground. A howling wind abruptly ripped through the air, pulling at his brown hair. When he finally sat up, rubbing his throbbing head and look up where he was sure the girl would be standing, only to find nothing.

The cheerleader was gone.

Squinting his eyes, Sam noticed the other kids gone too. He blinked, looking around himself until his eyes settled onto Tate. Sam just stared blankly, feeling strangely numb.

"Is it midnight?"

Tate nodded mutely.

It was over.

Sam returned his eyes to the garden gate. It was too dangerous to go out now, wasn't it? He didn't know what was so dangerous, but the girl had offered him a chance. A chance at what?

Oh, freedom.

He could have left the house…the manor, he could have been able to explore…to see what the world outside looked like.

"Why?"

Tate flinched, "You don't want to go with them, Sammy."

"I don't want to go with you either."

"Sammy!"

Sam grunted. He ran up to the house, pushing the door open and charging in. He almost ran into Patrick as he went, the man was standing in the man hall of the house with Chad. They had just been speaking, Sam didn't know about what but he almost ran straight into Patrick.

He muttered a soft apolgoize, and twisted around him.

"Kids these days!" Patrick huffed, "I knew that one was trouble!"

Chad rolled his eyes, "Patrick. He's upset."

"And?"

Sam sniffled. He walked to his room, pushing the door open and just standing in the doorway.

He felt…odd.

~#~#~#~

"What's wrong?"

Sam blinked, breaking out of thought. He raised his head, turning his eyes away from the white board.

"What?"

Angela frowned, "What's wrong? You look really sad, Sammy."

"Oh, nothing."

He tried to smile. He did. Because Angela was a little kid, younger then ten years old and he had promised to try and teach her how to read. Margaret was somewhere around here, he didn't know where though. It was just him and Angela to day.

"Are you sure?" Angela pouted, "You look really, really sad."

Sam chuckled, "Really, really?"

Angela nodded, "Yes. I want you to smile, like this."

She pulled a face at him.

"You know, if you hold your face like that, it will stick."

Angela gasped, smacking her hands against her cheeks, "No! No! Really? Please Sammy, say it isn't so!"

"I'm just playing."

The little girl nodded in relief, "That's mean. It's almost as mean as Troy and Bryan."

"Who?"

Sam doesn't recall those names. He rethought everyone he had met, nobody with those names came to mind.

"Troy and Bryan," Angela shrugged, "They twin boys that stays on the third floor. Up there."

Sam looked in wonder. He hadn't ran into them before.

"They like to cause trouble. Swinging their bats around, and their mean. Really, really mean. Don't go see them, Sammy, they'll be mean to you too."

"Are they like you? Little?"

Angela gasped, "I'm not that little!"

"Oh, sorry," Sam smiled.

"But yeah. They're the same as Margaret. They don't let me play with them, they only like playing with Margaret. I only get to play with you. Who needs them anyway, I like playing with you, Sammy."

Sam nodded, "I like playing with you too, Angela."

She grinned at that, before her face became blank. Her head clocked, and she turned to the doorway. Suddenly her face became more ash-like, and she pulled her knees to her chest, she then somewhat amazingly, raised herself to her feet.

"Mama's coming. I gotta leave now," she said, "I don't like being around Mama. She's different now."

Standing too, Sam shoved his hands into his apron, "What do you mean, different?"

"Just different."

"Angela?"

"You know Sammy. I found something really scary out the other day. There's a monster in the basement. A monster with sharp teeth, and long claws. I've never seen it, but Troy and Bryan says it will eat me if I go down there."

"There's nothing down there that will eat you."

"Oh, but there is! Sammy! I've seen it! It's horrifically scary! But ah! I have to leave now! Be happy again Sammy, kay!"

Sam waved, a small smile on his lips. The little girl disappeared through the door, and up the corridor. He sighed to himself, and grabbed the feather duster off the table. He better get back to work. Patrick had been very…not happy with him since Halloween.

Patrick was really out to get him, huh? At least Chad was nice. Yeah. At least Chad was nice…

Walking out the playroom, Sam mindlessly trailed along the second floor. His eyes staring at all the items around. He hadn't seen Tate since then either, and Sam didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Did he miss him? Of course he did, but he was just so confused. So confused about everything.

He could have left, but then he wouldn't be allowed to come back. And what would have happened if he did go? Would those teenagers have been nice to him? Everyone the manor, while can be scary, was kind enough. Minus Patrick, that is.

If Sam had went with the other teenagers, he would never be able to come back and see everyone. Never be able to play with Margaret and Angele, see his mother again, talk to Chad and…he missed Tate. He missed him a lot.

Sam sighed, dragging himself into the kitchen.

"Mother."

Moira looked at him with a smile, "Ah, Samuel, I was wondering where you got too."

"I did something bad," Sam said.

The old red haired woman turned him in surprise, "And what would that be?"

"I went behind the garden wall."

Moira's face became blank. She stared with an unreadable face. Sam tried to detect what was passing her face, but the longer he stared, the more it was giving him a massive headache.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, looking down, "I know I promised I wouldn't, but I did."

"Oh…" Moira muttered quietly, "And you're alright?"

Sam lightly kicked at the ground, "I went with Tate. On Halloween. He kept me safe."

"Oh," Moira nodded, "Halloween. Well yes, I suppose it was a little safer. I'm glad you're alright, but Samuel, please don't do that again."

Sam looked back at her, "You're not mad?"

"No. I was suspecting you would push the boundaries soon enough. I'm relieved you're alright, and unharmed. But this is your only chance, please don't disobey me in the future. I'm trying to protect you."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I'm curious."

Moira placed a wrinkled hand onto his shoulder, "I understand. Let's come to compromise instead. You are allowed to cross the wall once a year, on Halloween, but only that day. You have to get back by midnight, or bad things will happen."

"Okay," Sam gasped, "Thank you mother."

"I'm proud you told me, instead of lying. Now help me prepare Mister Warwick's afternoon snack."

Sam smiled, "Yes mother."

~#~#~#~

Sam stared, his eyes unwavering. Unable to turn away, he could only stare. He stood in the doorway to the manor, staring out across the garden. The figure of the person stared back at him, or were they staring at the manor. A few minutes later, Sam decided to approach her.

"Who are you?"

The woman turned her eyes from the manor to him, "Oh, hello."

Her smile was lovely. Very pretty, with thick curls of blonde. Her blue eyes were bright, and matched the strings of pearls around her thin neck.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

Sam awkwardly shuffled his feet, "It's alright. I'm Sam. Sam O'Hara, it's nice to meet you. Can I help you with anything? Are you waiting to meet the masters of the house?"

"No, that's alright. I'm just checking up on the place."

"Checking up on the place?"

The woman chuckled, smiling sweetly, "That's what I do. I am a friend of…Constance."

Sam's lips twitched, "You don't sound happy about that."

"Ah well, Constance is a very…headstrong type of person."

Sam laughed, "She's odd too."

"Yes, she is," the woman agreed, "I'm Billie Dean Howard."

Rocking on his feet, Sam beamed, "It's nice to meet you Miss Howard."

"Miss? Oh gosh, dear, you can call me Billie."

"Oh, Billie then!" Sam chimed, "But why would you need to come to check up on the place? I don't understand?"

Billie stared at Sam, her eyes becoming very soft and gentle, "You seem to not understand much these days, do you?"

"Um, I'm sorry?"

"You're confused. Overwhelmed. Why wouldn't you be?"

Sam's eyes flickered in confusion, "I don't understand."

"That's quite alright, dear," Billie hummed, her eyes twirling back to the manor, "This place. It has such darkness to it."

"Does it? I haven't seen any darkness."

"That's because it hides itself well. Be careful dear, a bright soul such as yourself will attract the shadows."

"What do you mean, Miss Billie?"

An amused smile took over her round face, "How long have you been here, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, um," Sam paused in thought. How long had it been again, "I don't know. I don't remember. I've been working here for a sometime, I guess.

"Working?" Billie pressed.

Sam shrugged, "My mother's the housekeeper. I help her stay on top of the cleaning."

"Your mother?"

"Yes, my mother. She's pretty old."

Billie hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin, "I don't suppose you've notice anything strange with the house?"

"Huh?"

Sam turned to look up at the manor, "What do you mean? What strange things? Everyone in the house are so kind, so nice to me. Nothing weird or strange has happened. Well, other than Halloween, but that's different."

"Halloween?"

"Oh, it's the only time I'm allowed to leave," Sam shrugged, "The others say it's dangerous to cross the garden wall. Bad things will happen if I do. Thought, I could have left, a bunch of other kids said I could have stayed with them."

Billie tilted her head, "Why didn't you?"

"Tate stopped me," Sam said, "But it's alright, because I think I'd miss everyone too much."

The woman didn't say much. Her face became blank as she stared at the manor, her fingers tapping along her chin.

"Do you want to leave?"

Sam paused, his eyes lowering in thought, "I don't know. I don't remember anything. My head is pretty empty, Miss Billie."

"Empty?"

"Yes. It only had the manor now. I do often wonder about what happened before."

Billie was quiet again. She made a quiet sound from the back of her throat, she stepped closer to Sam. Sam was still amazed that Billie was standing on the other side of the gate, perfectly fine and unharmed.

"May I try something?"

"Oh, like what?"

The blonde smiled comfortingly. She stretched her hands out, holding her hands flat out.

"If you don't mind Samuel."

Sam stared at the hands thoughtfully. He chewed his bottom lip, and nodded. What's the worse that could happen? Nothing, really. Sam has held many people's hands before. Tate's especially.

He laid his hands flat on top of hers.

Billie adeptly inhaled sharply. She stood stiffly, her eyes closed and after a few seconds, she willed herself to relax. Her shoulders lowering and she nodded her head.

"I see…you're very missed, my dear."

Missed? What did that mean? He was very missed? Missed by who?

"Ah-ah, just a second, honey. Give me a minute."

Sam swallowed his voice. He just stared at the woman, her eyelids twitching and flickering, her long eyelashes sent shadows across her white cheeks. She breathed in once again, and soon enough letting out in a deep hum.

"I see a man. Oh, how charming. He's very sweet, very kind. Oh, I see. I see, yes, I can hear you. Oh. Lovely, so delightful."

Sam blinked in a curious but confused frown. Who?

"He says his name begins with an K."

K?

Billie's face suddenly became more distressed, and sadden, "Oh, my poor dear. He says you should have came to him. That he's been waiting for you, after that night, but he couldn't get to you. He's been trying, but he can't reach you."

Reach him? He's been waiting for him.

"He wants you to know, he's so proud of you. You're so strong, and admirable, he loves you very much. No, they love you very much. Oh. Oh. Okay, I see. There's another, but he's further back, more shy. I see. But they're both here for you."

Suddenly Billie laughed, "Oh! Sammy 2.0?"

Sam's eyes widened. What did that mean? Sammy 2.0?

"I was named after somebody!"

Billie smiled, "Yes. Yes. You were, they named you after him. Oh. They love you so much, and she's hurting."

"Whose hurting?"

Suddenly, without speaking, a picture burned through his head. Sam let out a sudden cry, his body shaking and eyes becoming glassy. A woman appeared in his mind eye. A woman with short syrup-brown hair. Her face was fuzzy, the longer he tried to make her face out, she fizzled away.

What was that?

"You have many people missing you, and loving you."

Sam swallowed, eyebrows creasing.

"They'll be waiting for when you're ready."

He didn't understand. Sam looked down in confusion. He bit his bottom lip, chewing it in wonder. Who were these people? These two guys? Why was he named after one? Who was the woman?

"He wants you to be careful. They don't understand you, not really, they will never be able too. Don't trust them because they're not always real, the words are buttered up. You have be strong, and careful. Pay attention to your eyes."

Sam couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Billies words echoed in and out of his head, it made something in his chest hurt.

"You need to stay away from him. He wants to chain you to him, sink you into the darkness of the manor. He wants you, needs you, but don't let him. Don't let him win."

Billies breathed out sharply once more. She took a step back, her hands wrapping together. She blinked her eyes open, peering around them before her eyes landed on him.

"Are you alright, Samuel?"

Sam nodded, "I'm confused. I don't…"

"I believe they were your family."

"My family?"

"They love you very much."

Sam's throat became dry. They did? His family were waiting for him? He doesn't understand, how could they be waiting for him? That fuzzy picture of that woman appeared in his head again, and when he tried to solidify it, it melted away.

"Oh my god."

Eyes snapping up to Billie, Sam's insides twisted with sickness. Her face was suddenly white, and her eyes were wide, tearing up with a horrified expression taking over her face. Her hands raised to cover her mouth, eyes crinkling.

"You-You-You," she stuttered, "Oh my god. You're him! You're him! Oh my god!"

Sam took a tiny step back.

"Oh, no-no-no, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scary you. I'm just, god, what's wrong with me? I'm so sorry dear."

"I don't understand…" Sam mumbled quietly.

Billie shook her head. She clenched her eyes tightly, as if she was trying to forget something she had suddenly seen. But what? What had she seen? Sam wanted to know. Had she seen something to do with him?

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, oh, you poor honey. You poor pumpkin," she shakingly said, reaching for his hand again but Sam backed away further, "How awful. How dreadfully awful."

"It was unfair. So unfair, and disgusting. What happened to you, shouldn't have happened. You were just there. In the wrong time and wrong place. That thing just took you. Oh my poor sweetheart. Now you're stuck here."

Sam hadn't ever this before. This intense fear that suddenly bubbled through him, running from the tip of toes to the top of his head. He felt sick all of a sudden. Dizzy. His head spun. What was she saying? Those words, it was like somebody was delivering large hammers to his chest repeatedly.

"Oh, I can see them now. Oh, Samuel, Sammy, let me help you. Come to me, let me help you. You have to move on now. Please. You can't stay here, not now, I can't let you, not now that I know. He's waiting for you, they're waiting for you."

"The man whose name begins with K, this is what he meant. No wonder he was so distressed, his baby was hurt. By a monster. Oh."

Sam shook his head, "Please stop. Please. I don't understand, I can't, I need to-to-"

"No!" Billie cried, stretching a hand out, "Don't go! Don't go back inside, come to me, I'll help you. I'll stop it, you just need to take my hand again and-"

He couldn't take it. Everything was spinning, his head was on the verge of splitting open. Sam spun around, and raced back to the manor. His ears throbbed with the screams of his name, but he couldn't stop.

Sam didn't want too.

Billie kept yelling for him, but he ran. He ran as fast he could, barrelling into the house.

He tripped over his feet, but quickly used his hands to push himself forward. He ran along the corridor, not doing stopping even when he heard his name being called from multiple directions. Different voices, men and woman, children, all kept calling out to him but he ran straight up the stairs to his room.

His room. The only place where it was quiet. Where he was alone and could think.

That woman with syrup hair glowed his head. It only made it hurt more.

Sam shoved the door open, slamming it shut behind him. His frantic eyes raised, to meet surprised and concerned brown eyes. The two just stared at one another without saying anything, without blinking or moving.

In the next moment, realization smacked him in the face.

Sam threw himself at Tate. His arms wrapping around the blonde's middle and pushing his face into his chest with loud screech.

Tate stumbled a little, having not expected him to do that. His own arms immediately caging Sam, and petted the back of the brunette's head.

"Sammy?"

"Tate! Tate! Make it stop! I don't understand! Why would she say that? I don't know what she meant! She kept saying she wanted to take me away! Don't let her!"

The arms around him tightened all of a sudden, pressing into Sam's sensitive and making it hurt.

"I won't let anybody take you away."

Sam hiccupped, "You promise?"

"I promise."

Tate's voice sounded much darker then normally, but Sam didn't pay it any attention. No. He clung to Tate, hiccupping and sobbing. His shoulders shook, and Tate pulled him closer. Tate shushed him delicately, cradling his body and rubbing his back.

"It's okay. It's okay. Everything will be alright now, I'm here now."

"Don't leave!"

"I won't leave you ever again."

Sam felt strange. Well, he always felt strange but he felt stranger then normal.

His body was stiff, and his movements were restricted. Something was preventing him from moving much, but Sam didn't care. He liked it. A hand was running down his back, gently stroking the back of his head and playing with a loose brown hair.

After a few more minutes, Sam rolled over. He squinted his eyes, and looked up into Tate's face. Sam ran his hands along Tate's cheeks, he smiled and brushed their lips together in another soft kiss.

"Are you feeling better?"

Sam made a soft sound, "I'm sad."

"Me too," Tate agreed, "I'm always sad, but with you, it's better."

"Better?" Sam repeated thoughtfully, "Yes. It's better when you're with me. I'm still sad and very confused, but it's easier to deal with."

Tate kissed him again, "Will you tell what happened? What made you so scared?"

"…"

Sam looked down. His fingers nested together in the quilt. Slowly, he looked back up at Tate shyly.

"I met a woman outside."

Tate raised an eyebrow, "A woman?"

"Her blonde hair was massive, and crazy! I thought she was nice, at first. She was really kind to me, told me that people were waiting for me. Apparently my family, but I don't know. I don't know."

"Hey," Tate said softly, cupping his face, "It's alright. Breath baby. Breath. I can't understand you, unless you stay calm."

Sam nodded, leaning into his touch, "Right-right-right. She was so strange, Tate. I don't – um, she was saying things. She kept saying that-that I'm stuck here because a monster did something to me. I don't know."

Tate's eyes narrowed, "You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

"She said she wanted me to leave with her. To go somewhere else."

"I won't let that happen."

Sam smiled shyly. He cuddled up closer to Tate, pushing his head underneath Tate's chin.

"Are you still upset at me? About Halloween?"

Sam pulled back in confusion, "What?"

"Don't you remember? You told me you didn't want to me with me either," Tate said quietly, wincing as he recalled the words, "Because I didn't want you to go with the other teenagers. Um."

"Oh, that."

Sam sat up, he had forgotten about that. Billie had frightened him too much, he supposed.

Tate sat up next to him, "If you change your mind, and really want me to leave you alone, I will. I mean, I won't like it, but I will if you want me too…because I care about you more then anything. I don't want anybody to hurt you, I don't want anything to happen to you…"

"I've never felt this way about anyone before…"

"Felt what way?"

"…you know…"

Sam frowned, "Tate. I don't understand pretty much anything, you're gonna need to spell it out for me."

"I love you."

"Y-You do?"

Tate's face morphed into a lore serious expression. He wrapped his large hands around Sam, grabbing him by the shoulders and digging his fingers. Tate edged him closer, their noses lightly touching.

"I love you," he said, "I love you so much. More then anything. You're my light."

Sam's hands trembled. Something washed over him, he didn't know what it was, but it left him feeling light headed. Dizzy.

"I think I love you too."

Tate's eyes widened in surprise, "You love me? Are you…"

"I'm sure I do."

"You really love me?"

Sam laughed. He shook his head, and pushed Tate down, he pulled himself on top of the blonde. He smiled down at him, and pressed their lips together.

"I love you, you stupid dumbo blonde."

"Oi, that's stereotypes."

Tate's hands caressed Sam delicately, before they slid around Sam, pulling him closer. Not that Sam cared. He liked it.

"Are you alright, Tate?"

"No."

Sam propped his head up, resting his chin on Tate's chest, "What's wrong? I thought you would be happy."

"I am," Tate smiled, "I am. I am so happy you love me too, and that-that we're together again. I was so scared you'd hate me forever, and-and wouldn't want me around you ever again…but I'm…"

Raising a hand to gently touch Tate's face, "What is it?"

"I'm tired. I'm so tired, and exhausted. I always feel like there's something inside me, crawling and biting, trying to get out…I just want it to stop. I'm breaking all the time."

"Tate."

"I need you," Tate said seriously, "I need you. You-you help to keep it away, don't leave me. Don't ever leave me. I don't go. Okay. I need you here, with me, in my arms, forever."

"Oh Tate…"

Sam blinked slowly, he pressed their mouths together. Their tongues immediately beginning to rub together, it was different but so good. It made Sam's toes curl.

"I love you," Sam mumbled, "I love you so much, Tate. I won't leave you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

~#~#~#~

Sam laughed as the red ball rolled towards him again. Beau made a sound, a huffy sound.

"You know, if you were a little more patient…"

Beau whined.

Sam chuckled, gently threwing it back to the boy. He smiled as Beau leaped to catch it but missed. He grumbled, and crawled after it.

"I'm sorry I haven't been up here in a while. A lot has happened."

Beau fapped his hand over his shoulder. He then made a squeal of happiness, crawling back with the ball.

"Have you been lonely?" Sam asked.

The other shrugged. He wiggled his hand, looking at the ball – probably debating if he wanted to roll the ball or threw it.

"Surely Tate's came to see you?"

He decided to roll it. Sam hummed, cupping both hands to catch the ball easily.

"I wish I could bring you down from here," Sam sighed, "I don't like that you're trapped up here, all by yourself. The attic isn't clean or anything…"

Beau shrugged. He made a bunch of sounds that Sam couldn't begin to figure out. But he had a inkling of an idea.

"You like it up here?"

The younger boy nodded.

Sam perched his lips in thought. When Beau whined again, he rolled the ball back. Beau was really innocent, Sam didn't understand why Beau had to stay up here or why he wanted too. As his eyes scanned the attic, an idea lit up his face. He grinned widely and climbed to his feet.

Beau made a distressed whine.

"Ah, don't worry. I'm coming back, but I need to go get something."

The boy shuffled forward, clapping his hands.

"I promise. I'm coming straight back."

With that, Sam turned around and exited the attic. The first thing he did was go to his bedroom. His room wasn't that big, it was wide enough for him and Tate at times. There was a lot of things shoved in there that he didn't use, or want.

"What are you doing?"

Sam yelped, smacking his head against the underside of his bed. He crawled back, while rubbing the now throbbing bump and turned look up at the blonde.

Tate stared down at him in confusion, "What's with all of this?"

"I need them."

"For what?"

Sam smiled, "I went to see Beau."

"Oh, is he okay?" Tate asked softly.

Well, Sam couldn't tell if Beau was alright or not. He seemed to be, but Sam couldn't be sure.

"He was certainly upset when I left…"

Tate nodded, "He doesn't get many visitors."

Sam vowed to visit him more often.

"Yeah, and he really likes his attic. I don't know why, it's dreadful up there."

"It's because he's never left it before."

Sam hummed thoughtfully. Really? Never, ever? Shrugging, Sam turned to the mess he had made on his floor. Mostly old blankets, cushions, pillows and the stuff bear he had taken. He crouched down and scooped up as many as he could.

"I'm going to clean it."

"…Clean the attic?" Tate repeated quietly.

Sam smiled, "Not all of it. Just the part where Beau is. And I'll make a, um, dunno yet. Maybe a blanket fort. Something that will entertain him when he's alone."

Tate was quiet. His face unreadable. An odd glint appearing on his face. It was strange, but Sam found himself really liking the oddness of it.

Sam smiled, and grabbed the front of Tate's sweater, "You're going to help me!"

"I am?"

"Yes, otherwise no more kissing."

"Ah, can't have that, now can we?"

Tate smirked, leaning forward to kiss him. However, Sam turned his head last second, and had Tate kissing his cheek instead. It made Tate withdrawn with an offended look on his face, his lips twisting crookedly.

"You can have a kiss once we're finished."

Tate playfully gasped, "Oh, it's like that, is it?"

"Yep."

Tate chuckled. He shook his head, and mimicked Sam, picking up the rest of the things on the floor.

"After you honey bunny."

Sam paused. His face turning a bright red colour. He quickly spun around when Tate began to teasingly laugh.

Honey bunny…

Sam was to proud of himself. Just too happy with himself. They had done their best, the attic wasn't exactly clean, but it was a little more tidy. He hoped it would be better for Beau.

He grinned over at Beau. The boy held the bear that Sam had repaired, and was hugging it tightly. While the attic still looked creepy, dark and gloomy, the tiny space he and Tate had cleared out was the most tidiest of the attic. The extra blankets, and quilts made it look more entertaining.

"What's wrong?"

Tate blinked, breaking out of whatever thoughts he was in. He turned to Sam with an odd look on his face.

"Nothing," he said, "I was just thinking."

Sam frowned, "About what?"

"Stuff."

It was so confusing, no, Tate was confusing. He changed faster then Sam blinking. Still, Sam shuffled closer, leaning against Tate's side. The two sat on the newly laid blankets with Beau across from them. It was amusing, Beau had made a nest of the cushions and pillows.

It was cute.

"Tate?"

"Do you believe in spirits?"

Sam blinked in surprise, "Um, what?"

"You know, ghosts."

Ghosts? Spirits? Like the undead? Why was Tate asking that all of a sudden? Sam didn't understand. He shrugged, and laid his head against Tate's shoulder, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he did so.

"I don't know," he said, "Why?"

Tate sighed. He laid his head on top of Sam's, his arm slid around Sam's shoulders. Holding possessively and protectively, as if he was expecting something to come from the shadows.

"I was just thinking…about what happens after you die, is all."

Sam paused. A odd chill running through him. He felt a little cold, and automatically moved even closer, trying to warm himself up in Tate's embrace.

"Afterlife, huh?" Sam hummed thoughtfully, "Maybe? I mean, there has to be something better out there."

Tate rotated his head, looking down at Sam. His eyes were almost completely black.

"Do you wish you could to that place?"

"I don't know. Maybe? What about you? Don't you want to go to the better place?"

"With you here, this is my better place."

Sam stared back at Tate, "What if we could go to a better place together? Would you go? With me?"

"…I don't think I'd be allowed too."

"What do you mean?"

Tate shook his head, "It's nothing."

Why? Why was it nothing? It clearly was something, considering Tate brought it up.

Sam's eyes returned to Beau. He blinked, seeing the younger boy had stopped playing with his toys and was just sitting there. His back to them. Was he listening?

But why?

"What about you Beau? Do you believe in the afterlife?"

Beau made a distressed whine.

"D-Did I do something wrong?"

Tate shook his head, "No, it's not you. Beau doesn't like talking about things like that. It's okay Beau, you can go to sleep if you want."

Beau nodded. He crawled further away from them, burying himself into a pill of cushions, out of sight. Had Sam done something?

"I didn't mean to upset him."

"You didn't," Tate smiled, turning Sam in his arms, "It's not you. Don't worry about it."

Not really believing him, Sam wrapped his arms around Tate's shoulders. He moved closer, sighing softy, Sam gave him a brief kiss on the lips, and then edged back as quick as he had moved in. A brilliant blush covered his cheeks at the transfixed look Tate had. His eyes were darker than normal with something new.

What was that?

Tate pressed his hands against Sam's cheeks, and pulled him down. Their mouths sealing together desperately.

"I love you," Tate said desperately.

"I love you too."

~#~#~#~

His nerves was going to be the end of him.

Sam awkwardly raised his arm, pushing the feather duster higher and higher. Despite he was cleaning, his mind was other places. Tate had been kissing him more and more, and while Sam do generally enjoy it…he noticed something's been happening.

…And he keeps thinking of what happened between him and Tate during that Halloween night.

He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes with a groan. His other hand raising to pull at his hair.

"Samuel?"

"Sir."

Chad chuckled, he waved his hand, "I've been meaning to check up with you."

"Oh."

"Last month, when you came home. You were pretty upset," Chad said, "I was worried something might have happened. How did your date go with, was his name Ted?"

Sam smiled, "Tate."

"Ah, right Tate."

"Um, it went alright actually," Sam bashfully admitted, looking down to play with the loose strings of his sweater, "Really well."

Chad teasingly smirked, "How well?"

Sam hummed, swaying his arms out, "Um. We kissed a lot, and we went to that bonfire."

"The annually Halloween party. I used to go there with Corey every year."

His high school sweetheart. Sam sighed fondly, he had went with Tate. It was perfect, before those other kids turned up.

"If it went so well, why did you come running in like that?"

Sam blinked. It took him a moment to remember, and when he did, his eyes widened. He immediately straightened himself, and bowed his head.

"I'm so sorry! That was so rude of me! I-um-"

"It's fine, Sam. Did something else happen?"

Sam shrugged, "Other kids played a prank on us, is all."

"Oh…" Chad winced, rubbing his neck, "Um. Because…"

Because?

He stared at the older man, his brain slowly turning before something clicked in his head. His eyes flickered, and he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know…maybe…"

Chad clapped a hand onto his shoulder, "I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm here if you'd like to talk."

"I know. Thanks, Chad."

"So, how is things going with this Tate, I keep hearing about."

Flushing brightly, Sam looked down, "It's going good, I think? Um. We're still spending lots and lots of time together, and-and we kiss a lot too…but…um…"

Chad tilted his head curiously, "What's up?"

"I've been having thoughts and feelings."

The older man stared, "You mean…er, sexual thoughts and, er, feelings?"

Sam nodded. A whine coming from the back of his throat, he clenched his eyes shut and tightened his hands.

"That's normal, Sam."

"It is?"

"Of course it is," Chad said calmly, "Especially if you're dating somebody you like a lot. It's all natural to feel that way towards them. But it all depends on if you're comfortable or not."

"If I'm comfortable?"

Chad sighed awkwardly, "Er, okay, so – um, you only act on those thoughts and feelings if you're comfortable and your partner is. In your case, as long as both you and Tate want to do…do that, and are comfortable, and safe…"

Sam was quiet. As long as he and Tate was comfortable, and safe.

Did Tate want to have sex with him? Sam certainly wanted to have sex with him.

Oh, so that's what this is.

Sam's been wanting to do that with Tate. Ah, only now he realized it.

"I get it now."

Chad awkwardly shifted, "Sam. I've been to ask. Have you seen anything weird happening in this house?"

"What do you mean?"

"Um," Chad sighed, shaking his head, "I mean, strange things."

Sam tilted his head in thought.

"No. I don't think so."

~#~#~#~

"I'm a bad person."

Sam gawked up at Tate. The house was quiet, and mostly empty, or at least Sam hoped it was. He sat with Tate on his bed again, their shoulders close to one another.

"I'm a terrible person, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows creased, "You're not, Tate. You're not a terrible person."

"But I am. What are you doing with me?"

"I love you."

Tate sighed quietly. He lowered his head, putting his face into his hands.

Sam frowned. He crawled across the bed, and slipped onto Tate's lap. His fingers gently peeled Tate's fingers away and raised his face. Sam smiled warmly, brushing gentle kisses along his face.

"I said I love you."

Tate sniffled, "I love you too. So much. Never leave me."

"I won't."

It was hot, and sticky. Tate's mouth kept covering his, kissing him, licking his mouth. Sam ran his fingers through Tate's messy blonde curls, lightly tugging on it until Tate was whining into his mouth. His hands rubbing up and down, Sam's thighs.

"Sammy, baby, I love you so much."

Sam pulled back, "I did it again."

"You moan. It's moaning. It's a sound you would make if it felt good."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say that before?"

Tate shrugged, "Because you make cute sounds."

Sam pinched Tate's cheek. The two returned to kissing. Tate's tongue licked at his lips, asking to be let in which Sam all too happily obliged with. This time, Sam didn't withdrawn when he moaned.

"What's wrong?" Tate asked, "Did I do something wrong? Am I going to fast?"

Sam blinked a little, "Nothing's wrong. I'm just…giddy."

Tate smiled in amusement, "Oh. Me too. But you want me, right? I mean…you want to do this?"

"I want it!"

"I've never done this before," he admitted, "Never. This is all so new to me."

"I've never done this before either."

Sam peeked up at Tate, "R-Really?"

"Yeah," Tate smiled, "I mean, who would want to? Right?"

Sam cupped Tate's face, "What's that supposed to mean? You're gorgeous. Blonde hair, pretty brown eyes, soft skin, muscles, what's not to love?"

Tate laughed, "You'd be the first."

A gasp escaped Sam's lips, an sensation like no other ran through his body. Sinking through the pit of his stomach, and licking along his insides. It made his eyes roll back in a shuddering-shocking gasp.

It was perfect. Everything he had honestly been dreaming off. Thinking off.

Sam shuddered. His skin tingled and prickled. He gulped, looking down to see Tate playing the end of his shirt. Nodding shyly, Sam raised himself to help remove it. Over come with embarrassment, Sam tried to shield himself with his arms.

"Tate, I've never been so…"

"You're beautiful."

Tate pried his arms away, his fingers sliding up Sam's stomach. Their mouths moved together, playing cat and mouse, just as his fingers brushed Sam's nipple. Sam fidgeted on Tate's lap, arms wrapping around his head as Tate's greedy mouth sunk further down.

His back arched all of sudden, feeling hot wetness enclose around his nipple. Tate suckled, while his other hand reached up to tug on his other nipple.

"Tate."

Delicately, Tate's large hands ran around his body. They spread across his back, and suddenly Sam was on his back. His thighs spreading and letting Tate lay himself between them.

Sam spread his legs wider, Tate beginning to move his hips. The same feeling of before overcame him, spreading from the middle of his legs and down his legs. Sam's legs trembled, sliding up Tate's jean covered legs.

Tate moved his mouth back up, licking, kissing and biting. By the time his mouth raised higher, he dipped his tongue into the soft flesh. He licked the area, scrapping his teeth back and forward across the skin – his mouth closed around the area, and sucked as harshly as he could.

"W-What are you doing?"

"I'm just…marking you as mine."

Heat washed through him, "Marking?"

"I'm giving you a hickey."

"A hickey?" Sam repeated quietly.

Tate looked up, "You know what that is, right?"

Sam blushed, "I have an idea."

The blonde grinned wildly.

Suddenly Sam propped himself up on his elbows, "Tate. Take your shirt off too. I don't want to be the only one…"

Tate blinked, breaking out of his thoughts. His own face became pinkish.

"Oh, um, okay."

Tate really was more lean then him. He was perfect. It was really hard to believe Tate never had any experience before him. His eyes trailed along the muscles Tate had, watching as his skin moved when he breathed.

"What are you thinking?"

Sam blinked slowly, "That you're my boyfriend."

Tate let out a laugh, "Really?"

"I'm lucky."

Twisting himself, Sam unbuttoned his jeans and wiggled to pull them off – or tried too anyway. Tate moved forward, trapping him into the bed again and kissed him. Tongues twirled together, saliva dripping between their lips. Tate's fingers raising to pull at Sam's jeans, sliding them down his long legs.

Threwing the jeans off the bed, Tate pulled back onto his knees. He stared down at Sam's body with an unreadable look in his eyes. It made Sam squirm, becoming anxious. Maybe something was wrong from how hard Tate was staring.

"Am I…?"

Sam began to withdraw his legs. His knees curling in to hide himself when Tate shot forward, to grab his knees.

"Don't."

Tate's fingers spread across Sam's knees, edging them open again, "Please don't. Don't hide yourself."

Sam nodded. He relaxed his legs, they spilled wide once more. Tate's hands runs further down his thighs, sending goosebumps along Sam's skin. The hair standing on end. Tate ran his mouth further downward, the hot breath and soft lips rolling along his skin. It sent goosebumps through his body, from the tip of his head and straight down to his toes. Kissing, licking, it was all so new and all so different.

Just as Tate's mouth reached Sam's briefs, Sam jerked. Tate suddenly sucked on top of Sam's spready hardening penis, he pulled back the fabric caught between his teeth.

His gentle hands caressed his thighs, spreading them even wider and finally, using his teeth – tugged the briefs away. Half way, Tate tugged the briefs further down his leg. Sam's mouth became slack, watching wide eye as Tate lowered his face. His mouth moved so gently, so tenderly, to the point that tears run freely.

Sam shoved his hand into mouth.

Tate looked up, without moving away – that made Sam even hotter for some reason.

"Go on, please. I want you too."

That was the magic words. Sounds like no other began to spill three.

Tate's words were muffled and Sam felt them. Tate's lips moved, forming the words, sending sharp spikes through him. This time, Sam didn't stop himself, he grabbed onto Tate's hair. His toes curled in tightly, teeth clenching together.

"You're doing good baby. So good baby."

Sam made another sound. He couldn't breath. Everything around him was spinning and turning. His eyes rolled into his skull.

"Tate! Tate! Y-You have to stop, I'm-I'm going to!"

His voice hitched – body spasming. A uproar of something slushed through him. Tate didn't stop, ignoring Sam's pitiful please. The mouth on him kept moving, kissing, licking, even sucking until Sam laid completely still – numb.

Tate hummed pridefully. A smile on his dimple sweet face.

"Was that good baby?"

Lazily, Sam slid an eye open. He stared at Tate, watching as the blonde draped himself over him. He trapped Sam underneath him, framing his head with his long arms.

"Sammy?"

"I-yes. I've never…never felt that before…"

Tate smirked, "Can I do it every night?"

"Every night?"

"Yes."

Sam flushed, sheepishly nodding.

"E-Every night?" Sam gasped, if his face wasn't so hot already, it probably would have become even darker.

Suddenly Tate's face darkened, "Sammy, baby, you've never let anybody else do this to you, right?"

"Of course not. Only you."

Tate nodded, "Good."

"I've never let anybody see me like this before."

"You're beautiful. Gorgeous."

Arm's circling around Tate's shoulders, Sam eased him into another kiss. A desperate kiss, as if Sam would have lost his mind if Tate wasn't kissing him. His fingers ran through Tate's shaggy gold hair.

He was lucky.

"Tate, wait."

Tate frowned worriedly, "Is something wrong? Have I done something bad?"

Why did Tate keep thinking he's done something wrong?

"You're perfect," Sam sighed, "What you did was nice, and, um – I'd like to return the favour."

"Favour?"

"You know what I mean."

"Oh!"

Sam looked down embarrassingly, "Is that okay?"

"Of course. Anything for you baby."

Sam's hands reached for Tate's jeans, nervously unbuttoning them. His hands shook to much that Tate took his hands, rubbing his thumbs along the back of his hands – he then climbed off the bed to remove his jeans and boxers. His cock, his penis, was standing out and blushing brightly, with precum pearling at the tip.

Tate eased himself back onto the bed, his folded thighs parting. He stared with large, dark eyes as Sam crawled onto his stomach. Sam gulped, looking at the large, standing out mushroom shaped penis.

Sam had never seen another penis before or even touched one before. It was his first completely.

It stood up right, leaking and begging for attention. It was so very red at the tip, with little veins twitching down the sides. It was pretty, and Sam found himself leaning forward without another thought, his plush lips parting to lick at the skin.

Tate immediately inhaled sharply, body stiffing. Sam glanced up at Tate worriedly, but upon seeing the shy and pleasureful expression on Tate's face, he ran his hot mouth along the cock.

"Sammy, oh."

Sam groaned. He sucked harder, pushing his tongue along the flesh. His eyes raising to look up at Tate. The blonde's eyes were wide, staring at him, unmoving. Seeing the look on his face only made Sam hotter and wetter.

His eyes slid shut, focusing on bring pleasure to Tate. He kissed, licked and sucked, doing his very best and using Tate's reactions as signs of what to focus on and what not mouth moved higher, glided up to the tip of the cock and wrapped around the head. Slowly bobbing his head, until Tate shoved a hand against the back of his head.

He wasn't afraid, no, he was…excited? Sam sucked, licked and kissed quicker, bobbing his head even more until something flushed through his mouth.

Tate wheezed, shuddering, struggling to catch his breath. Sam whined, making the blonde yelp and rip his hands away. With the pressure on his head gone, Sam pulled off the penis.

Sam coughed, and spluttered, whipping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I wanted to do it, and I liked it."

Tate looked away, "I sometimes lose control of myself. I don't want to hurt you."

Sam pushed Tate down onto the bed. He climbed on top of him, leaning down to pressing his mouth to Tate's. Their mouths together, and wrapping their tongues together. As they kissed, Tate's hands begun to caresses his body, rubbing the sensitive spots, making Sam whimper and moan.

Minutes later, Tate was sliding inside. The feeling of being entered, of being filled, was so different.

It hurt like a bitch. Sam would never be able to describe it.

It was so right. It was so perfect.

Sam moaned, rocking his head a little. He tested the feeling of it, hips rising and falling. Tate's hands running up and down his thighs, moving up the side of his stomach to his chest. He braced his hands against Tate's chest, pushing himself up and down – Tate was very considerate, staying completely still until told otherwise.

"Tate, okay, I'm – you can move."

Tate grunted. The feeling of Tate finally thrusting, even if it was tiny and gentle, was enough to send Sam shaking. Tate was large, massive and stretching him so much.

"Tate."

"Does it feel good baby?"

Sam nodded blindly, "It's, it's, good. So good."

Tate's hands gripped Sam's hips, his nails beginning to dig into the soft flesh of skin. It hurt, but Sam could only moan. Enjoying the stinging. It was like Tate was raising him and slamming him back down, sliding up and down that massive cock of his. It sent tingles of twitches down Sam's spine.

"C'mon here."

Sam held his arms out, smiling warmly down at Tate.

Tate blinked up at him, his pure black eyes shing. He shot up within seconds, flopping them over so he was on top. A hand grabbing Sam's thigh and pulling it up, holding his legs around his waist.

He pulled back until the tip of penis was inside, and then shoved back in within seconds. Sam let out a high pitched cry at that, his head flopping back in bliss. His arms wrapped around Tate, holding him close and nails running down his back. Sam's legs crossed around Tate, caging him, himself.

Tate groaned deeply. Hissing through clenched teeth as he thrusted, in and out. Skin slapping against skin. His teeth sinking into Sam's throat like a vampire, drawing a little blood.

It was perfect and soon they were coming undone.

Curled up together, their legs tangled, the two cuddled underneath the thick pink futon blanket. Sam's head laid on Tate's left arm, his other arm was wrapped tightly around Sam's thin form. Sam's own arms were cuddled up to Tate's chest.

Neither spoke, just basking in comfort of one another.

Whoa…

~#~#~#~

He was giddy with the realization he had sex, or well, he had sex many times now. Doing it with Tate, continuously was just…amazing. Sam was always happy, excited and willing to spread his legs for his boyfriend.

For his lover.

It was strange. Suddenly becoming overwhelmed with the strong urge to be near Tate, to be close to Tate. Sam always wanted to touch the boy, always wanted his arms wrapped around him in his own cage. His body trembled all the time, every time the thoughts of Tate and them having crossed his mind, had Sam whimpering with need.

Sometimes, when he's supposed to be cleaning…Sam would suddenly think about them. He and Tate have rough sex, his neck would throb where Tate had bitten him – marked him over and over during the love making. Between his legs would become hot and hard, and Sam couldn't help but shove a hand into his pants.

He wanted to be close to Tate, always.

Tate's home was inside him.

They had sex to many times for him to keep count. Other then Sam's body suddenly erupting with heat, and want, Tate had come to him with black eyes. A look that just told Sam, Tate needed it.

He needed it right then.

Sam was always eager to open his legs for him. To spread his thighs inviting to his boyfriend, who would soon pounce on him.

"Sam."

He twirled around, smiling widely, "Hey Chad!"

"You seem to be in a good mood," Chad blinked, letting out a chuckle.

"I had sex."

Chad paused, "Oh, well…was it-"

"I was in control," Sam said, turning back to the window, "Tate was very gentle with me. It was perfect."

The older man looked at him with a smile, "I'm glad it's worked out for you."

"I love him."

"I can tell," Chad clicked his tongue, "Once you find love, you need to hold to it and never let go."

Sam tilted his head, "Is that what you did?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, with Patrick? You don't seem like you love him."

Chad's voice died on his voice. A pained expression appeared across his face, awkwardly shifting back. Making space between him and the younger boy.

"Patrick and I, our relationship is complicated."

Had he said something wrong? Sam didn't mean to.

"Do you still love him?"

Chad ran a hand through his hair, "Of course I do. I love him more than anything."

"More than Corey?"

"Sam…some things just don't work out."

"Do you wish you had chosen Corey?"

Chad smiled sadly, "It's hard to say. I love Patrick, I'm glad to have gone through what I did with him. But-"

"He doesn't love you anymore," Sam said quietly, "Right?"

"…It's that obvious?"

Sam shook his head. He turned away from Chad, looking down at his feet. He slowly kicked at the ground.

"Not really. It's just…I have nothing to do but observe. I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundary."

"You didn't," Chad said, putting a hand onto Sam's shoulder, "It was bound to happen. I'm sure many other people have noticed too. I wish it wasn't like that, but it did. Patrick and I, we probably won't be together for much longer."

His mouth became dry.

Just like that? Love could fall apart. Could that happen to Tate and himself? He hoped not. He loved Tate, more then anything. Tate was everything.

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"You're a sweet kid," Chad smiled, "You don't need to worry about that. I'm a grown man, I can deal with this myself."

Sam frowned, "But what will happen? Will you leave the manor? I'll be honest, I don't like Patrick and I'd rather him not be my sole master of the house."

"Sam," Chad sadly laughed, "Unfortunately, I don't own the house. I might have threwn all my money at this place, to restore it…if we separate, Patrick won't let me keep the house. I know what he's like."

Sam grimaced, "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

His eyes was beginning to water, "I couldn't go to Moira about any of this. About Tate, I don't think she even knows that I'm dating somebody…let alone I have a boyfriend."

"It'll be alright. You have to stay with your mother-"

"She's not my real mother."

Chad blinked, "She's not?"

Sam sighed deeply, grumbling deeply, "I woke up here. I don't remember when, or what I was doing before that. I just woke up here, and she was there. Moira took me in, took care of me, for some time. I haven't seen her in a while."

The man's face scrunched up in thought. His eyes ran up and down Sam's small body.

"Sam, what do you mean…you just woke up here?"

Sam shrugged, "It's just how it is."

"You don't know where you come from? You don't remember?" Chad repeated quietly, "…Did Moira call the police or something? Your family is probably worrying about you."

His family? Could his family really be out there, worrying about him?

"I don't understand."

Chad's face changed into a more disbelief and worried expression. He took Sam by the shoulder, "Sam, listen to me, are you in trouble? Are you being held here against your will?"

Against his will?

"You never go outside…never leave the manor…"

Sam hummed, "I'm not allowed to go behind the garden wall. Only Halloween."

"Oh my god."

Chad covered his mouth with his hand, taking a step back. His eyes widening so much that Sam thought they would pop out.

"Oh my god. Sam! I'm so sorry! I never realized!"

What? What did that mean? Sam just stared. His brain tried to make sense of what Chad was saying.

"No wonder you're so confused!" Chad said, running a hand down his face, "My god. How could I have been so blind?"

"I don't get it?"

Chad straightened himself, "It'll be alright. You don't need to be scared, there's nothing out there that can hurt you. They're just lies, people have been feeding you lies. Manipulating you."

Manipulating him? Lying to him? Tricking him?

Something ran through him. Sam's legs buckled, why did that sound so…right? As if he already knew that? Sam didn't understand it. No, they wouldn't lie to him. Moira had been so kind to him, helping him, taking care of him.

Why would Moira lie to him?

"None of them would lie to me, Chad. They're all my friends."

Chad paused, "What do you mean by all of them?"

"You know! All of them! Everyone who works in the manor, helping you restore it! Um. The man and woman upstairs. The man sleeps a lot with a glass in his hand, and the woman wonders wound. Margaret and Angela, well no, they're kids."

"Oh!" Sam gasped, "Tate! Tate helps too!"

Chad stared. His face an odd blank expression, "Sam. Nobody helps out in the manor. The only people who is here, other than Patrick and I, is you and Moira."

"What?" Sam laughed, "No. I saw them all. Beau lives in the attic too. He won't come down stairs, I tried to get him too, but he won't."

The other man swallowed thickly, "Sam, what…what does Tate look like?"

Sam hummed with a sweet smile. What does Tate look like? He liked that question. He would never forget what his boyfriend looks like. He let out a soft coo at that.

"Ah, he's about this tall!" Sam began, holding a hand up, "Taller than me. He has shaggy dirty blonde hair, and brownish, greenish eyes. He has the cutest dimples too!"

"Does…does he wear a dark knitted sweater?"

Sam nodded, "Sometimes. He likes to wear sweaters and cardigans."

"Oh my god."

"What's wrong?"

Chad shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. He took a step back, looking off to the side and then back to Sam.

"Sam, listen to me, this house...it's not right. It's not healthy. Um. I thought it was all in my head, but it's not. Damn. We have to leave."

Sam's eyes widened, "What do you mean? I can't just leave. I'm not allowed. It's dangerous to go outside, not cross the garden wall."

"Sam! You can, there's nothing stopping you. Come with me, I'll take you to the police."

"What? Why?"

Chad doesn't reply, instead he grabbed Sam by the wrist. He began to drag him from the room, making Sam stumble over his feet.

"W-Wait, Chad? What are you doing? Let go, please."

"Sam, I'm trying to help you."

"Help me?" Sam squealed high-pitched, "What do you mean?"

A sound came from somewhere in the manor. It was so loud that it echoed throughout the house, Chad paused. He looked frantically through the house, his eyes peering up the staircase anxiously. When nothing else happened, Chad let out a breath of relief.

"Chad?"

Chad turned around to Sam, "Sam. Don't you get it? Think about it, use your head. You woke up here, out of the blue one day? With no memory of what happened? Don't you think that's suspicious? To wake up and see Moira staring at you?"

"Um, well there's got to be an expiration for it-"

"Sam, you're not even allowed outside the house."

"W-Well it's because it's dangerous out there-"

Chad shook his head, "But you've seen people, haven't you? On the other side of the garden wall, right? You've seen it, and they're alright. Nobody is hurt."

"Um, yeah but-"

"It's because they lied to you."

Sam's mouth opened to protest but no. Nothing came out, because his brain turned. He began to clip the puzzle together. That made sense…he guessed. His face scrunched up in thought. He had seen people, and when Tate and he went on their date, he saw many people. They looked all fine, and happy…

"But why?"

"I don't know why," Chad admitted, "I think…they've kidnapped you."

"Kidnapped me!"

Chad nodded.

"No, you're wrong! Why would they-"

"Sam, it all adds up. Come on, think about it. It's the reason. They've probably had you drugged or something."

Drugged?

Sam whined. He tried to pull himself free from Chad's grip. No. No, they wouldn't do that.

"No, Tate said-"

"Tate's lying too."

That made Sam stop. His eyes widened, and his jaw became stiff. His eyes squinted, and he stared at Chad.

"W-What? Why?" he whispered quietly.

"Tate's lying to you. There's so much you don't know, can't begin to know."

"What do you mean!"

Chad tried to pull him towards the doors again, "I'll explain it all to you in the car. Okay?"

"No!"

Sam yanked his arm free, "No! You explain it to me now! Tate wouldn't lie to me! He wouldn't!"

"Sam-"

"Tate wouldn't lie to me…he wouldn't. Not after…not after what we did together…"

Chad winced, "Sam, I'm sorry…but Tate's not…"

His vision was already beginning to tear up. All the little things that didn't make sense to him, but he chose to ignore it. To push it to the back of his head began to unwrap. Tate had been hiding something. Had been controlling certain things.

He had…

"Tate has been lying…" he whispered brokenly, "But why?"

"I don't know…but please, you trust me don't you?"

Did he trust Chad? Of course he did. Chad had helped with everything.

"Okay…okay…"

Chad smiled. He nodded, placing a hand to Sam's back and beginning to guid him forward. Taking him to the front door, ready to leave. Sam's eyes squinted as the sun light streamed through the front, hitting him in the face.

What will happen now? Now that he's living the manor?

"I'm leaving…?"

"No!"

A ghostly chill ran up his spine. Sam's whole body quivered, his knees buckling. His head cranked around, to looking back into the manor. He stood on the porch, the sunlight bathing him as if to tell him he was taking the correct path.

The manor was darker. The opposite to the sunlight.

"No, you can't take him! He can't go!"

"Tate?"

Sam's lips twitched, unsure if he should smile in relief or cry. He stared at Tate, the shaggy blonde haired boy stood in the middle of the entry hall. His shoulders stiff, and arms hanging at his sides.

"You…" Chad awkwardly said, eyebrows creasing.

Tate's eyes. They were black, but not the same sort of black Sam had seen before. Tate's eyes moved from Chad to Sam, something swirled inside them. He stepped forward, raising a hand out to him.

"Sammy? Come back, you can't go with him. You know that…you promised, don't you remember?"

'Don't leave me.'

'I won't. I promise.'

Sam swallowed. He did. He did promise after all. What was he doing? He was going to betray Tate. Betray and rip their love apart.

He loved Tate.

Sam almost stepped forward and grabbed onto Tate's hand, but he stopped himself in time. What was he doing? Tate's been lying to him. Lying, and tricking him. Sure, Sam didn't know what about, but it hurt.

He slunk back, his arms falling to his sides. His unwavering eyes fell to the floor.

Tate's eyes darkened further. Hurt flickered between them, beginning to glitter with tears. His own hand fell to the side, fingers twisting into a strong ball.

"Sam, go to my car. I'll deal with this."

Sam nodded. He shuffled backward, moving away from the door. He tried to avoid looking at Tate, but he did in the end. Sam's eyes raising to meet Tate's, the look in them was too much, making his chest tremor.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

Sam flinched, as if he was hit. He shook his head, and turned around fully, his eyes beginning to truly water.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Tate's eyes blazed, "You promised."

Flinching, Sam took a tiny step backward.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me," Tate said, reaching forward to grab onto Sam's wrist, "Don't go! Don't leave me all alone, you promised you would stay with me!"

Sam yelped. His body jerking forward as the blonde tugged on him, trying to pull him back into the manor. Anxiousness shoot through him, piercing his very soul and truly setting the tears free. They ran down his cheeks, as Sam arched his body, to pull back.

"Tate, Tate, let go!"

"You promised! You promised you wouldn't leave me!"

Sam grunted, his eyes crunched shut. He twisted his feet, and with one fight yank, his hand slipped free from Tate's grip. He fell back, landing on his backside with a loud thud. Pain prickled along his backside and up his spine.

He whined, his body locking up from the sudden pain.

"Sammy-"

Chad stepped between Tate and Sam at that moment, deciding enough was enough. However, as Sam raised his worrisome gaze, he saw the look on Tate's face. Immediately his stomach launched with bitterness sickness.

He began to speak worriedly, but Tate snarled.

"Don't get between us."

"Listen here, I don't know what you and your buddies are up to or what you're doing to Sam, but I won't let you continue to abuse him."

Despite Tate looking calm, Sam could see his eyes flaming. Fuming with hatred, with anger. He straightened himself, his hands twisting at his sides and balling up tightly. Sam could see the white frost forming across the back of his knuckles, pure white seeping along his long fingers.

He didn't want Tate so angry. This was his fault.

Suddenly Chad's face became…strange. His skin becoming pinkish, no, it morphed into the brightest shade of red Sam had ever seen! Slowly, ruby liquid dripped form his eyes, running down his thin cheeks. The same whine began to pour from his nose, and leak at the corner of his lips.

His body launched forward, hunching over with a sudden cry of pain.

Sam jumped. It was like Chad had suddenly been kicked in the gut, or even socker-punched, but he hadn't. Sam hadn't seen Chad be touched!

What was happening?

Why?

Why was Chad in so pain?

Spinning his head back to Tate, Sam's eyes immediately narrowed down onto Tate raised fist. The fingers were so tight that little blue veins could be seen. Sam glanced between the fist and Chad, the blood rushing down his face.

A scream erupted from Chad, he fell to his knees, still clenching at his stomach.

"Stop…"

Sam stumbled forward, "Stop! Stop it! Stop it! Stop hurting him!"

Tate just stared. His glassy, pure black unmoving, unblinking. It was terrifying!

The brunette wasn't sure what to do. What he could do to help Chad, to make the pain stop. He could only plea for his life, but even that fell on deaf ears. Sam's own face heated up, his nose scrunching up to the point it burned.

"Tate! Please, stop! Stop hurting him! Leave him alone!"

Sam hurriedly crossed back through the doorway. He wrapped both hands around Tate's raised fist, digging his nails into the flesh.

"Stop it, Tate!" he cried, shaking the blonde, "I'll do anything, anything, just stop hurting him! Leave him alone!"

That seemed to be the magical words because Tate blinked. His body relaxing, and tensed fist unwrapping. Tate's black, glass-like eyes turned to look at Sam. As he did so, Chad fell to the ground unconscious.

Chad laid on his side, blood dripping down his skin. Sam anxiously stared, stepping forward to check on him. Was he still alive? Was he breathing? He couldn't be dead, right?

Just as Sam was about to crouch down, a hand grabbed him. One powerful tug, Sam found himself falling back into a pair of outstretched arms.

Desperately Tate kisses him. His mouth slid against Sam's, tongue plunging into Sam's mouth. Sam gripped at Tate's sweater, tugging a little with a whimper. His body trembling, shaking against Tate's body.

He kisses him over and over again before darkness takes Sam.

~#~#~#~

His head was empty. Had been empty for as long as he remembered. Sure, Sam was able to create new things to fill it up with, but he couldn't remember anything from before that. Why? Why couldn't he remember? Moira wasn't his real mother, who was his mother? Where is his mother? Did she leave him?

That woman, Billie or whatever her name was, said something about people waiting for him. Caring for him. A guy whose name started with a K, and apparently he was named after another Samuel.

Where's his family? His real family?

Why was he here? In this house? In this manor?

What had the people here done to him? Why can't he remember their faces!

Suddenly, his mind fizzled with a picture of a woman. A woman with the short syrup coloured hair, her faceless milky white face glowing to bright for his eyes.

'Sammy. I love you, everyone loves you so much…you're the gift of our past.'

Warm tingled through his chest as his mind conjured up a feminine voice. A voice of a woman, was it the syrup-haired woman's voice? Was she speaking to him? She had too, as she said his name…but nobody called him 'Sammy' but…but…

Was it a memory?

The picture of the woman was fuzzy, like a television screen. They were inside a house? A living room? She backed away like an old movie reel, her hands fixing a brown coat and hat. She was speaking? Sam didn't know, her voice was no longer clear but soon enough she disappeared out a door…she grabbed a suitcase as she went.

No. No. Don't go. Don't leave.

Don't leave. Come back.

'Watch me on television tonight.'

Television? Who was she?

Sam sniffled. His eyes burned as he forced them open, blinking the blurriness away. It took him a few seconds to realize he was in the room inside the manor, laying on his bed. Sam blinked the sleep dust away, his eyes ached as they rolled around the room. He went to sit up, but found he couldn't.

Panic erupted through him. He struggled to get off the bed, something was holding him back. Every time he thought he was winning, and was able to sit up a bit, he was yanked back down. It was a chest, a chest was against the back of his head and it only made him more scared.

"Let go!"

…and just like that, the arms vanished. Sam shot forward, crawling down the bed to get away form whoever was behind him. He huddled against the bottom of the bed, up against the wall and stared back at Tate.

His eyes were normal again…Tate's eyes weren't black anymore, they looked more green then brown and was blood red. Tate's face was down casted, crumbling into a pitfall expression.

"You were going to leave me."

Sam twisted his arms in front of himself, "You've been lying to me."

"What?"

"I know you have. I know you, and everyone else in this house has been lying to me."

Tate frowned, "What are you talking about?"

Sam bristled, "Stop it. Stop lying to me! I'm not stupid! I'm not crazy! How come I can't remember anything from before this stupid manor? Why can't go outside? There's nothing wrong out there! I know there's something in the basement! It attacked that man! You've been doing nothing but lie to me! From the very beginning!"

"No!" Tate yelled, "I haven't! I haven't been lying to you!"

It hurt. It hurt because Sam wanted to believe him. He loved Tate, he wanted to crawl back up the bed and curl up in Tate's arms. But he couldn't. Everything Chad said was haunting him.

It was all too suspicious.

Sam didn't understand everything. He couldn't clip the parts together, but he knew. He knew something was wrong, very wrong and it scared him. It terrorised him!

"Yes you have!"

"What about you, then?" Tate suddenly said darkly.

Sam blinked, "W-What? I haven't done anything."

Tate scuffed, "You were going to leave. Just like that. You were going to leave me, with Chad, of all people. You trusted him over me. Me, the one who loves you more then anything, the one who touched you, kissed you, showed you the outside world, made love to you."

"You were just going to accept his words as fact and leave. Leave me without even talking to me. He could be lying to you."

Sam shook his head, "Chad's never lied to me. He had always tried to help me-"

"And what did I do! All I've been trying to help you! Trying to protect you! Because I love you! Do you even love me?"

"Of course I love you!"

"But you hurt me," Tate said quietly, like a wounded puppy, "You don't hurt the people you love…"

Sam's eyes widened, tears beginning to swell up, "I do-"

"No you don't!" Tate snapped, "If you did, you would have came to me! Not try to leave with Chad, you would have came to me and talked with me! That's what people in love do! That's what boyfriends do! But you didn't want to hear what I had to say, even now you won't listen to me!"

Sam froze. A high pitched buzz shot through his head, making him overcome with dizziness.

"I-I'm sorry," he chocked, "I'm so sorry, Tate. I-I, you're right. I s-should have-have come to f-find you."

The dam shattered. Sam immediately curled in on himself, hands raising to cover his face. A loud, broken sob escaped his lips. Tears fell like a rainfall.

What's wrong with him?

Tate hadn't done anything to hurt him, had he? No, he hadn't. What's wrong with him? His losing it! Why would he blame the person he loved?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The blonde shifted forward wearingly. Tate eyed Sam before finally scrambling down the bed to Sam. He pried the brunette from the wall, wrapping his long arms around his body and pulling him tightly against his body. Tate rubbed his back, caressing the back of Sam's head.

"Shh, it's alright. It's alright. I'm here."

Sam sobbed. He buried his face into Tate's striped sweater, crying.

"I'm a terrible person! I'm an awful partner! Why do you want to be with me? I'm selfish, and I've ruined it! I've ruined our relationship!"

Tate held Sam's face between his hands, "You're perfect. Sammy, baby, you're perfect. I love you, I love you, I love you so much. Baby, you haven't ruined anything, you just got to-to promise never to do that again."

"Okay? Can you do that baby?"

Sam hiccupped. He nodded his head, unable to speak. He was crying too hard.

Thumbs rubbing Sam's cheeks, Tate smiled. His smile was thin and smug. Tate pulled him closer, pressing their lips together. The first kiss was soft, and brief, when they part, they stared at one another. Sam sniffling as he began to settle down, his fingers still clenching at Tate.

"Kiss me again, Tate."

"Always."

Sam keened. He stretched up to meet Tate half way. His body screamed 'yes' as Tate's hands slid underneath his own sweater, fingers trailing up to his chest.

Later, with his eyes closed, Sam bounced up and down on Tate's lap.

~#~#~#~

It was still confusing. It still didn't make sense.

Sam knew something was up, was going on, but he doesn't know what. He loved Tate, wanted to stay with him because Tate hadn't really done anything to truly hurt him. Some of the things Tate had said doesn't add up, there was something in the basement, and the group teenagers that had followed them during Halloween.

The strangeness of Billie's words still echoing through his head. Something was definitely off.

"Tate!"

Sam smiled, and ran forward. He wrapped his arms around Tate's middle, laying his head on his chest. He nuzzled into Tate's embrace.

"I wasn't gone that long," Tate said in amusement, kissing the top of Sam's head, "I'm back now."

"I just missed you, is all."

"I missed you too, I love you."

"I love you too."

Tate's arms tightened around Sam, holding so tightly that it was suffocating. Sam's nails dug into the sweater, tugging a little. Tate tilted Sam's head back, kissing him possessively.

"Where did you go?" Sam asked, pulling away out of breath.

Tate grinned, "I figured out what to do."

Sam stared up at Tate, staring into the blonde's eyes with a tremor running through him. The grin was off, it was almost scary.

"F-Figured out what?"

Tugging him closer, Tate pushed their foreheads together, "How to make sure we can stay together. That neither Chad or Patrick can take you away again. I've figured it all out now, so you don't have to worry."

Sam's voice died in his throat. A scary chill ran along his spin, beginning to lick at his skin. It was…different.

He stared wide eyed up at him, "T-Tate, what do you mean? Did you do something to-to…"

“Nothing bad. I just wanted them to leave us alone for some time,” A maddening grin appeared across his face, "I love you, so much Sammy. Baby, I want you to happy, free and no more empty. I know what to do, to make sure you're fixed."

Wincing in confusion, Sam stared up at him, "Fixed? W-What do you mean? How do - how will you fix me?"

"It's simple. Once you go to sleep, it'll be all better. You'll no longer be empty, or confused."

"Sleep?"

Tate nodded, he reluctantly pulled away. His hand shuffling around in his pockets, and finally fished out a palm-sized white bottle. He shook it in front of Sam's face, making the pills inside rattle around. His blazing, emerald eyes becoming more crazed like, his pupils widening.

"These," he said hurriedly, "If you take these, it will put you to sleep, we can stay here. Stay here together, forever. Once you wake up, everything will be made clear to you. We can do all the things you like. We can play with Beau all day long, we can dance, I can even help you clean if you still like doing that, and-and we can make love every day! All night long! Whenever you want it, you can have it!"

"We can be together forever."

Sam’s eyes widened in fear, "You…You want me to commit suicide?"

"No!" Tate whined, "No! It's not-It's not, okay, it is! But it's not as messy as that, you'll just-"

"…Go to sleep."

"Yes!" Tate nodded like a puppy.

Sam's eyes lowered, staring at the bottle. It was mocking him. It was like a stone suddenly formed in the very pit of his stomach, Sam's hands gripping at the end of his sweater.

"I don't-"

"You love me, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

Tate wrapped his other hand around Sam's, tugging him closer, "Then you'll do it. I know it's scary, but I'll be there. I won't leave you alone, ever again. I'm going to be there, holding you during the whole process."

Sam gulped, "Where…where did you get the pills?"

"From around."

"From where, Tate?" he pressed.

Tate stared at Sam, a dark look appearing across his face, "Why? Why are you asking so many questions! It shouldn't matter! Not when we can be together!"

"Tate. Tate, please stop, calm down."

Tate bites his bottom lip, "Tell me you'll do this. Tell me you love me enough to swallow the whole bottle."

"T-The _whole_ bottle?"

"Yes! Otherwise it won't be enough!" Tate screamed, shaking Sam.

What should he do? Should he just go with it, and swallow the pills? Would dying be better than…then being so confused all the time. Having an empty head, would everything seriously make sense?

Tate was unstable. Sam didn't know what to do.

He stepped closer to the blonde, raising a hand to cup his cheek. Tate made a sound, leaning into his hand with tired, puppy eyes.

"It's the only way…"

“No…” Sam whispered.

Tate raised his head, the puppy-look gone. His spoke, his voice and warning, “What did you just say?”

"I-I get it," Sam said hurriedly, "It's the only way for-for us to be together…"

Tate turned his head, using his other hand to cup Sam's hand. He kisses the inside of Sam's hand, licking at the soft skin.

"B-But I need to do something first."

"What do you need to do?" Tate questioned suspiciously, his eyes darkening.

Sam bravely smiled, "I need to-to check on Chad and Patrick. You didn’t, um?"

"Chad again! Why? He tried to get in the way of us! Why do you want to see _him_ for!"

"N-No, no," Sam mumbled, cupping Tate's face, "No, d-don't be-be like that. There's no need to be jealous, Tate. Um. Chad helped me."

Tate scuffed, "Helped you, how did _he_ help you?"

"I was scared! I was really terrified about our date, about my feeling for you, about sex! He helped me, calmed down and told me if I loved you, it wouldn't matter!"

"I want to talk to him before I take these pills."

"You can't!" Tate snapped, "He's busy with Patrick, right now."

Sam blinked slowly, "He is? I thought…"

"He doesn't care. Not really. He's selfish, and only cares about himself. About his own relationship with Patrick. He wasn't trying to help you, he was only trying to make himself feel better after his big blow out with Patrick. He doesn't care about you at all, he was only using you to make himself seem better than what he is. To regain Patrick's affection"

"…I don't understand…"

"You should only worry about yourself, about us. Nobody else. He's happy with Patrick. It was his plan all along."

Why did that hurt? Had Sam really latched onto the older man? He really trusted Chad. Had Chad really just used him to, what? Like what Tate said, make himself seem like a better person.

Oh…

Using a sad, lonely and vulnerable kids to make themselves look good…was Sam just a prop for Chad? To show Patrick what type of man he was? The kind man, the _family_ man…

"Don't cry over him, Sammy. He's not worth it."

"I thought…he was like a dad…"

Tate shushed him, he moved so fast that Sam barely had time to think and kissed him with a hard press of lips against lips. A desperate, and greedy kiss.

"Like Romeo and Juliet. You won't feel a thing."

"Can-Can we do it in bathtub?" Sam blurred out blankly. Stretching up on his tip-toes.

Tate’s eyes widened, "Why? Why not here? Your bed is perfect. It's the place where our love is most intense."

Sam gulped. He pulled back, or tried too, Tate had a tight grip on him. When Sam step back, Tate stepped forward, keeping them as close together as possible.

"Why?" Tate repeated.

Tate's hands on him tightened. He gripped even tighter than before, nails digging into his skin.

"Sammy! What are you trying to do!"

"Tate! Tate! Just stop!" he tried to struggle against Tate's hold, "I don't want to do it! Just let go of me!"

"Why? Why? Why don't you want to be with me? You said you loved me! Were you lying? Sammy! Baby, please-please! You can't back out! Please, I need you, baby!"

Tears swelled at the corner of his eyes. Sam hiccupped pitifully, tugging as harshly as possible.

"I don't want to die!"

Sam wasn't expecting Tate to let go of him so easily. He fell back, back hitting against the door and head slamming into the wood. He grunted, tears streaming down his cheeks. He stared up at Tate through his blurry eyes.

"Sammy, I know it's scary. I do. But it's the only way."

Sam gasped, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. He leaped to his feet and barrelled through the door, his ears throbbed with Tate’s screaming – begging him to come back. Grabbing onto the staircase rail, Sam raced down them, running blindly.

“Sammy, no!”

Sam turned to look behind him, a scream escaping his lips. He was only a few feet away. How was he so close already?

“Leave me alone, Tate! Just go away!” he cried.

"Sammy. Baby. Sammy! No! Please, come back!"

Shaking his head, Sam ran. Why was this fucking manor like a maze now! It had never been this hard before! Sam knew how to move around the manor like the back of his hand! Why is it so fucking hard all of a sudden!

“Sammy,” Tate shouted, “Stop running! Just come back!”

Bursting out the back door, Sam ran across the yard. He panted, pushing himself as hard as he could. Running away from the manor, and was never going to come back! He charged towards the back wall.

"Sammy! Wait! Wait! Don't go! Don't go!"

Ignoring Tate, he raced up to the back wall. His fingers burned as he climbed onto it, pausing briefly on top of the wall. He turned his head back, looking back at the manor, his eyes searching for the blonde.

Why was Tate not running after him?

Tate trailed to the back porch and just stared. His face unchanging, his eyes hooded with darkness.

Sam shook his head, and twisted himself. He leaped down from the wall on the other side of the wall, or that is what he thought.

"Sammy?"

Spinning around, he let out a high-pitched scream of horror. Tate just stared at him heartbrokenly. His disappointed figure leaning against the back porches pillar.

Why was he back on the porch?

Sam shook the thought away and tried again. He ran back to the garden wall, this time throwing himself straight over it…and found himself back on the porch again. 

Tate once again, just watched. His eyes becoming more tender with every passing minute.

"Sammy, baby, it's alright."

“No, no,” Sam sobbed, looking down at himself, “Why? Why can’t I leave?”

Turning on the hill of his foot, Sam stormed back into the manor. He panted deeply, rushing through the manor and out the front door. He threw himself at the gate, yanking it open with two hands and like before, found himself back in the manor.

No.

It couldn't be.

"No, no, no, no, no," he chanted, hands grabbing at his head.

He let out a high pitched sob, trying to breath, he couldn't. He couldn't think straight, everything was spinning around him. How? Why can't he leave? Why can't he get off the property? Why was he forced to stay there?

"I don't understand!" Sam sobbed. He hit his hands repeatedly on top of his useless head, "Why am I so empty! Why can't I just think straight for once!"

Suddenly, Sam's sore and swollen eyes raised to find Tate. Tate standing in front of him, appearing out of nowhere all of a sudden.

"How did you?" Sam leaped to his feet in horror, "What are you! What's happening? What did you do to me?"

Sam stumbled around the dining table. Tate made a step toward him, following him around the large dining table. The banquet of flowers spread across the middle of the table, and Sam hated how bright they looked in this dark room.

"Tate. What did you do to me?" he demanded.

Tate doesn't say anything. Instead he continued to stalk after him, following him around the dining table, like a shark. They just continued to circle around the long table.

"Sammy, you have to stop now," Tate said. He held up a single hand, making a soothing and clam gesture, "You have to calm down."

"Sammy, Sammy, stop running!"

"Leave me alone!"

Sam bolted from the kitchen, he ran out the front door once again. Just as before, he ended up back inside. He tried over and over, each time more tears swelled up.

"No! No! I don't want to be here! I can't be locked here!"

Sam sobbed, covering his face with his hands. He slid down the door, buddling himself up at the base of the door. He screamed. He screamed and screamed. Crying disgustingly into his knees.

Why can't feel anything?

Soft feet approached from the side. Sam didn't have to look up to know who it was. Tate delicately got to his knees at his side, gently raising a hand to touch Sam.

"Sammy…"

Sam's swollen eyes snapped to Tate. He pitifully sobbed, "Please, Tate. Please, I don't want to die. I don't want it to be over."

Tate's hand gently touched his cheek, "It's not over. It's just the beginning."

"N-No. I don't want to die,” Sam begged.

"It's too late for that."

Sam cried, "No! No! Tate!"

Tate cupped his face, forcing Sam to look at him. His voice was soft and soothing, gentle, "Listen to me. Just listen to me. Please, stop running away. Stop running away from me, alright.”

“Sam, listen to me,” Tate hushed, “Just take a deep breath.”

“Why can’t I leave?” Sam asked, “What did you do to me?”

“I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm not going to hurt you,” Tate said calmly. His thumbs caressed Sam's skin, rubbing the soft skin of Sam's tear stained cheeks. His fingers ran down to lightly touch his lips, Tate's eyes lowering to look at them briefly.

"I want to show you something, please. I promise, I'm not trying to hurt you. I just want to show you something, and then, if you want to leave me…you can…” he said.

“I-I won't – I promise I won't stop you, I promise. You have to trust me…please."

Sam sniffled. He slowly nodded.

Tate smiled sweetly, his eyes closing briefly. His eyes burning away into the familiar soft brown colour Sam loved so much. Full of patient and love. Filled with longing, fondness and gentleness.

"O-Okay," Sam mumbled, his voice creaking and breaking.

The blonde stared at him, Tate's stare was intense. He was just gazing at Sam, and when he realized they were staring at one another for too long, Tate stood up. He held a hand out to him, that smile still on his face.

Sam stared at the hand for a few seconds. He stood up without holding on to it, he wrapped a hand around his arm and looked down at his feet.

Hurt flashed across Tate's face, but he soon shrugged it off. His hand fell to his side, and turned around. He checked to make sure Sam was falling, before he began to walk out of the main hall.

Neither spoke a word to one another. Sam was just numb. His head was empty again, as it always was. Sam almost walked straight into Tate's back when the boy stopped still all of a sudden. The brunette shot back, keeping a small distant between the two. Sam held onto his arm, scratching at the texture of his sweater's sleeves. As he did it, he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, fingers scrapping against his skin.

Tate gently wrapped his fingers around the handle of the door, "Close your eyes. Remember-everything's gonna be okay."

"Because I love you. I love you so much, baby."

Sam swallowed. He looked around Tate, peering at the door in confusion. Wasn't that just the ball room? It wasn't a very big ball room, it was small and could only really fit a hand full of people. Sam didn't really go in there, only once or twice before Moira told him she'll deal with it.

It was just a pain to clean.

"Sammy…?"

"R-Right. Okay…"

Sam looked down at the out stretched hand. This time he took it, his eyes sliding shut. Tate's fingers curling around his gentle hands, fingers rubbing the skin. Sam heard the door groan as it opened, and was lead into the room.

"Okay…just stand there, Sammy…" Tate's hands ran up to his shoulders, squeezing them, "Just…stay calm. Okay."

The sound of the light switch reached his ears.

"Open your eyes."

Sam did as he was told. His eyes fluttered open, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the sudden bright light of the room. The first thing he saw was glass. A lot of shiny glass surrounding him in all directions. The walls, the ceiling and the floor, it was all covered in the same glass.

Sam's eyes raised, looking at himself in the mirror. Sam stared, heat beginning to crawl through him, ripping through his flesh and up to his ears. Shakingly, Sam's raised his hands, he looked down at himself and then back up into the mirror. He turned around, staring at himself in all the mirrors around him.

A high pitched, blood-curling scream ripped free from his throat.

~#~#~#~

Sam was numb.

He sat on the front porch of the manor. He just watched as the people walked around on the other side of the garden wall. He admired their freedom. They were all so bright, pretty and full of life.

"I don't understand…"

Tate shifted next to him. The boy shuffled a pack of cards, "I didn't want you too. When we met, I was relieved you didn't remember."

"I'm dead?"

Tate bit his bottom lip, "I'm sorry."

Sam sniffled, feeling another sob building, "I can't remember dying. I don't remember it…why don't I remember?"

"Some spirits have violent deaths. When that happens, they block it out because it hurts too much."

Rubbing his face, Sam let out a quiet cry. He peered down at his hands, his eyes watering further as he stared at it.

"Did I have a violent death, then?"

Tate wrapped his arms around him, pulling him gently to his side. He squeezed him, running his hands up and down his back, laying gentle kisses to the top of Sam's head. It felt good when Tate squeezed him tighter.

"What happened?" Sam whispered, peeking up at him, "H-How did I die?"

Tate looked away, "It was a very violent death, Sammy. The worse in the house…it…it was a famous one too. The house had many visitors, reporters and everything between kept coming to the house…even now we have people sneaking in because of it."

"Tate, please…"

"Sammy. Trust me, you don't want to know."

It was just so overwhelming. His body ached, Sam never realized his heart wasn't beating. His heart never reacted normally. He only got the sensations of emotions, but never his heart beating in fear, or happiness.

Tate made him feel better. Being with him again quietened the rumbling in his head.

"Is that why my head is so empty?"

Tate nodded, "It was so violent, that's why. You forcefully blocked it out."

Sam wrapped his arms around Tate in return. His hands run along the sweater, pressing down. Ah. Tate was warm, but his heart wasn't beating.

"You're dead, too?"

"Yes," Tate nodded sadly, "I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want to freak you out and tell you…you that…"

Sam looked down, snuggling closer, "All this time, you were protecting me, huh…"

"Since the moment I saw you…I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe. We all wanted to help you."

"We?"

Tate glanced up, gesturing to the house, "They're all dead? It's this place. If you die in the house, you can never leave."

Sam sighed softly. He closed his wet eyes, and buried his face into Tate's chest. Tate's hand gently stroking the back of his head.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Sam asked softly, his soft brown eyes gazing into his harsh ones, "That you were dead…"

“Hi. I’m Tate. I’m Dead. Wanna hook up?”

Sam blinked, cracking a tiny smile.

Tate shrugged with a smile, "I don’t think so."

Sam laughed, "Suppose not, huh. I don't remember dying, even if it was violent, do you? Remember your own death, I mean?"

"Nope."

That was a little more reliving.

"What should I do now?"

“You draw a card, and then discard,” Tate teased, gesturing to the deck between them, “You have played before, right?”

“Of course I have,” Sam huffed, “But I mean, what do I do now?”

“Nothing,” Tate shook his head, “We just continue to do what we’ve already been doing. It’s you and me. Together forever. Together for always.”

Tate leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips, “I love you."

Sam gapped, he pulled away with wide eyes, "How can you say that? How can you say you love me? Look at me! I'm…gross."

"You're not gross."

"I am."

Tate sighed. He shifted himself, twirling around to have Sam in front of him. His hands slid down Sam's arms, squeezing him gently.

"This is why we all worked together to conceal your sight. You're beautiful Sammy. So gorgeous. There's nothing wrong with you, you're perfect."

Sam flushed, lowering his head, "Are you sure? I have scars…everywhere…"

"I don't care."

Tate rubbed his fingers against the scar around Sam's throat. It was pale, almost white and circled Sam's complete neck. His other hand wrapped around the other scar circling Sam's wrist.

"This – these's are you. They're apart of you now, I love you so I love them too."

Sam smiled shyly, "I don't remember you being this sweet."

"I'm always sweet."

Sam chuckled. He leant forward, and pressed a firm kiss to Tate's mouth. It didn't sound so bad. Being with Tate for ever now, having endless rounds of sex, of making love. It sounded lovely.

"Okay. I like that."

Tate hummed, "Like what?"

"Being with you forever."

Tate beamed.

"You once said you wished you knew who your real mother was…" Tate paused thoughtfully, "While I can't give you a name, I do know she was a famous reporter. She came to the manor a couple of times, but she hasn't been back in while."

Sam gasped, "A famous reporter! Do you remember anything about her?"

"Um. At the time, she had brown hair and eyes. But the last time, she dyed her hair blonde…"

So she was his mother! The woman he kept remembering randomly. That was his mother!

"She loved you," Tate said quietly, "She cried a lot, especially when she walked around the house. She's the reason why Patrick wanted the manor."

Sam frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Patrick's a massive fan of her…he brought the house her son died in…"

That's why Tate hated him.

"Is Chad and Patrick dead too?"

"No. They're alive."

"Oh, didn't they see me for me?"

Tate shook his head, "Moira claimed you under her wing. To them, you looked like her son, sort off."

"Oh…"

Sam didn't quite get it, but decided not to question it. Instead he curled up to in Tate's embrace.

"I love you," Tate whispered, "Always."

"I love you too."

~#~#~#~

Sam inhaled sharply. He straightened him, feeling her nerves screech and shriek inside him. He slowly stepped closer to the door, pushing it with both hands. He pushed the door open slowly, and peeked into the kitchen.

"Samuel. I know you're there."

He awkwardly jumped, and stepped in. A sheepish smile on his lips.

"About time you decided to see me," Moira said, "I was beginning to worry you disliked me."

Sam gasped, "I could never dislike you, Moira. You're the kindest person I know. You helped me when I needed it."

The old woman smiled, "You know the truth now, huh?"

"Tate explained it to me. I died in the house."

"It was such a horrific way to die, I'm sorry, you were to young for that to happen."

Sam shrugged, "I don't remember it. Besides, it's not bad. I'm here, with you, Tate and the others. It's not too bad."

"At least you're making the most out of this," Moira hummed softly, "I know many other spirits here who isn't able to."

Smiling, Sam inched further into the room. He trailed his fingers across the kitchen counters, catching his real reflection in the polished marble. His lips twisted into a grimace, his nose flaring.

"Something we can't change."

Sam frowned, "Tate says he loves me the way I am, but I question it a lot. Who would love a monster like me."

"Oh darling. You are far from a monster here. The one who is the monster is the other."

"I don't understand what you mean."

Moira simply smiled, "I wish I could protect you, but it would seem I am unable too. I tried my very best, that I did, but some things just happen."

What did that mean?

Within the next minute, the old lady was gone. Sam blinked, looking around in awe. He will never get used to that. Ghosts vanishing and reappearing where ever they wanted. Sam still didn't have the hang of it yet. Tate had been trying to teach him, but Sam just wasn't talented yet.

Sam shrugged with a hum, turning around and strolling out of the kitchen. Now that he was dead, he looked upon the manor in a different view. Tate had told him if somebody died in the house, they can't leave. The manor was like a cage.

Was Billie real then?

That medium who had seen him. His real self and awakened his first memory of his mother, his real mother. Had she known? She must have.

The man that was waiting for him…the man whose name begins with a K. Was that his father?

Sam had many questions and no answers. He groaned, and skipped along the corridor, deciding to distract himself from the depressing thoughts. He wished he could see his mother, her real face, and remember her voice. Sam really wanted to know her name.

His face flushed as he recalled this morning. He and Tate had been having sex again. Been having a lot of sex since the reveal, and fuck, it was good. It was just what he needed, what he craved. Tate gave him everything he wanted, everything he cried and begged for. It was perfect, and good.

So good.

As Sam moved along the corridor, whistling to himself, he didn't notice the shadow moving along the wall behind. He only stopped when he heard the sound of wood creaking behind him, and whipped around.

Sam blinked once, then twice.

"Who are you?"

A man. A man he hadn't seen before, ever. Was he a spirit too?

The man was tall with silk blonde hair, and thin skin. He wore a pair suit pants, white dress shirt and tie. Sam turned towards him fully, tilting his head in thought. The man's eyes. They were dark and haunting.

"Who are you?" the man mocked slyly.

Sam awkwardly took a step back, "I asked first."

The man smirked, "I lived here once. Before I died. My wife shot me, you know."

"Oh."

The man slowly walked around the room, his eyes moving between all the tiny trinkets. As he got closer, Sam noticed red on his chest and face. Blood. Sam grimaced, turning away wearily.

"Um. Sir, I have to go, um…"

"Let me guess, your little faggot boyfriend is waiting? Huh?"

Sam paused, "Excuse me? Don't call him that."

"I'm just calling it as I see it," the man shrugged casually, "It's fun to play with other people, you know. You shouldn't let yourself be tied down in one flavour, there's so many out there. Especially not that one anyway."

Frowning, Sam turned around and began to walk away.

"Please stop following me."

The man scuffed. His hands in his pockets, "I'm not. You're merely in my way. Oh, did I say something that striked a nerve with you?"

"Shut up," Sam said, "I don't want to listen to you if you're going to bad-mouth my boyfriend."

"You love the little freak, huh?"

"Don't call him that!"

The man laughed, "He is one. He's pretty messed up. Fucked in the head. It's disgusting, honestly. Trust me, you wanna run from that one."

Snapping, Sam spun around and thrusted a finger into the mushy redness on the man's chest. He bites back a grumble of disgust, and twisted his lips together to prevent it from showing. The man's face held an amused smirk, his brown eyes flashing darkly and leaning in close to Sam.

"Listen kid. That one will drag you down, he always does. Just because he loves you doesn't mean he won't rip that little light of yours out. He'll suck it up, like a vampire. He's the real monster, not you."

Sam took a small step back, "W-What do you mean by that?"

"Oh! You don't know?" the man purred, grinding widely and showing his teeth, "Ah! That's rich! I was so sure you would have known by now! Your little boyfriend is a murder."

What?

A murder? No. Tate's not, he couldn't be…

"You're wrong."

The man clocked his head, "I am? Hmm. I've been in this house fair longer then you, I've seen everything he has done. I've been there, heard him and witnessed him. He's killed many people."

"No. I don't believe you."

"Remember your precious little date?" the man smirked, clicking his tongue, "When those strange kids jumped you and him? Ever _wonder_ why?"

Wait. Was-was the man suggesting…no…

No, there was no way. Tate didn't – he couldn't have…no…

"He did."

"No, he wouldn't…he would have told me…"

The man shrugged, "He chose not too, because of how you died."

"How I died?"

A dark laugh escaped the man's mouth. The color left Sam's face, his jaw dropping and he stared at the man.

"You were murdered, you know that much, right?" the man hummed uncaringly, "Kidnapped, dragged here, tortured and murdered. Dismembered and shit, blah-blah-blah. Whatever."

Sam froze. Everything inside him shattered at the words. His eyes lowering to look at the scars on his body. That was why…that's why he had those scars…

"But you should know, the brats powerful. Real powerful."

"S-So?"

The man shook his head, "Your little, sweet and innocent boyfriend, was there. He watched you be tortured, had your life snuffed out and dismembered. He stood there, watching and did _nothing_."

Tate would never do that.

Tate wouldn't let something like that happen…

"I don't believe you," Sam said, stepping back. His hands shaking at his sides, "He wouldn't-wouldn't let that happen…if he could stop it, he would…"

"He could definitely have stopped it. He could have easily saved your life, but he didn't."

"You're lying!"

The man straightened himself, shrugging again, "I don't care you believe me or not. I'm telling the truth. That little murderous boyfriend of yours has the power and the strength to destroy somebody. He may be dead, but he can certainly burn a living person to crisp!"

"If he really wanted too, he could have saved you. Saved you from the sick fuck that kidnapped you."

Sam's eyebrows creased.

"Ah, but he didn't. No. Instead he watched as you were killed, and waited for you to wake up. I wonder why? He wanted to fuck you, himself instead."

Sam's hands clenched at his sides, "Shut up! Shut up! You don't know anything about me or Tate! Shut up and go away!"

The man let out a laugh,

A suddenly, blood-curling scream came somewhere else in the house. Sam's head spun around in shock, looking around in worry and wonder.

"It seems you're about to find out."

Sam turned back to the man, but found him gone.

He shook, and squeezed his eyes shut. Tears dripped down his pale cheeks. That, that wasn't true. It couldn't be. Tate wouldn't just stand by and let somebody die in one of the most gruesome way…

It didn't take Sam long to find Tate. His room was where Tate liked to hang out the most, he always said it was due to the room being the beckon of their love.

The memory of it had his eyes tearing up.

Tate looked up when he entered. The smile on his face was dazzling, beautiful. Sam wanted nothing more to throw himself at the blonde, to wrap his arms around him and never let go. To kiss him repeatedly, and make love until Sam forgot about what that man said.

Tate wouldn't have…wouldn't have just sat back and let some twisted person torture him…kill him, rip his body apart if he could intervene. If he could stop it, right?

"Sammy."

Sam swallowed, looking down into Tate's face, "You said you don't remember how you died…"

Tate blanched a little, "I don't."

"Are you lying?"

"What? Why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know…" Sam said, "You like to lie about the littlest of things."

Tate's eyebrows creased. He climbed off the bed, and came to stand in front of him, gently putting his hands onto Sam's shoulders.

"What are you talking about?"

"Tate, are you a murder?"

The shaggy blonde haired male froze. His eyes widened, and his jaw became stiff. He inhaled sharply, face becoming darken all of a sudden.

"That's crazy talk, Sammy. Baby. Who is putting those thoughts into your head?"

"It's not true?" Sam said sternly, "Those teenagers during Halloween…"

"What about them?"

Sam frowned. He stared up into Tate's face. His face was becoming unreadable. His eyes, they were hauntingly black again. He took a tiny step back in a slight jolt of fear, remember what happened the other night.

"You killed them, didn't you."

Tate scuffed, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's true, isn't it. How did you really die, Tate. Tell me."

Stepping back, Tate crossed his arms. He twisted his mouth into a deep frown, "Why does it matter? We're dead! We're both dead, it doesn't matter anymore! It's in the past!"

"Of course it matters, Tate!" Sam gasped, "I was murdered!"

"That's different!"

"How is it different? Somebody forcefully took my life from me. Took my future. I don't remember my own family."

Tate fell silent. He stared at Sam, his eyes slowly becoming soften. He stepped closer to Sam, hands taking his shoulders.

"Sammy, I…"

"Please," Sam whispered, "Tell me. No more lies."

"The cops shot me," Tate muttered quietly, looking down, "In my old bedroom on the second floor."

Sam's mouth became dry, "W-Why? Why did they shoot you, Tate."

"I don't know."

"You do know, Tate. You killed people, other kids, you shot them. The kids that jumped us on Halloween…you killed them."

Tate shook his head. His eyes became misty with tears, "No. No. I wouldn't, I couldn't. It doesn't make sense Sammy. Why would I do that? I know I did it, I do, but I don't understand."

"Sammy, please, why would I do that?"

Sam's heart broke. Tate began to cry, fully cry. Sam wanted to hold him, to shush him. Calm him down, but something was holding him back.

"I don't know, Tate. I don't know."

"I wouldn't. I wouldn't. Sammy, please, you have to believe me. I wouldn't have done that. I don't know what happened. I don't remember it, but I know it happened."

Tate squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders shaking as his hands pulled at his blonde curls.

"It makes no sense!"

"You killed other people too, Tate…" Sam whispered, "Other people who lived here before…"

"I don't know," Tate gasped, shaking his head.

Sam swallowed thickly. He looked off to the side, "You're strong enough to hurt the living, as a ghost…"

Tate looked at him.

"…Were you there?"

"Sammy…"

"Were you there?" Sam repeated, "When…when I was being murdered. Where you there, watching as that person destroyed me?"

Tate avoided looking at him. He looked down with another shake of the head.

"Why…"

"Why didn't you do anything?" Sam asked painfully, "Tate! You were there, watching it all! Why didn't you do anything? Why did you let him kill me? Why? Why? Why me?"

Tate pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He then looked at Sam with his broken stare, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was different back then. Sammy, please, you have to believe me. It was different, I'm different."

Sam dragged himself back, putting distant between the two. His stomach churning in pain.

"Are you? I don't know Tate. I don't know if I can believe you…"

"Sammy, please, please. Please don't. Sammy."

"You've done nothing but manipulate me. Play with me. Lie to me. You know how much trouble I had, I called myself empty…and you…you knew everything? You saw everything that happened to me? And just…nothing? I think…this manor is filled with darkness and you are a part of it."

Tate stumbled towards him, "No. No. You're wrong. Before you, that's all there was. Sammy, Sammy, you're the light. The only light I know. You changed me, Sammy."

Did he? Sam didn't know.

"I love you Tate. I do…"

Tate looked up at him tearfully, "I love you too. I love you so much, Sammy. Don't leave me."

Sam inhaled sharply, "I don't know what to do anymore. I…Tate, just tell me, please. You-you were really there, wasn't you? You could have stopped it, couldn't you?"

Tate stepped closer, his shaky hands reaching out to touch Sam's, "Sammy…I-I, yes. Yes. Yes. I was there. I saw everything. I saw you cry, scream and beg for your life. I was there, and I could have stopped it. I could have killed him instead."

"Why didn't you do anything!"

"I don't know!"

It was silent between the two. They just stared at one another, both of their faces streaming with tears.

"Tate…I can't….I can't, not anymore…I just…."

"What are you saying?" Tate demanded, taking another step closer.

"I can't be with you. No. I _won't_ be with you. Not anymore, I just can't."

Tate shook his head desperately, "No, no, no, don't do this. Sammy. Don't do this. I need you. I love you. You can't leave me."

"No," Sam willed himself to be strong, "Just leave me alone Tate. We can't be together anymore. No more."

"You're all I want! You're all I have! You can't just leave me!"

Sam grinded his teeth together, "Not anymore. Just leave me alone, Tate. Just go away."

"I won't! I need you! You need me! I know you do! You want me, just as much as I want you!"

Tate launched forward, grabbing onto Sam. It sent the two boys into the wall, Sam being trapped against the wall. He didn't have time to think, or do anything, as Tate immediately grabbed him by the chin and forced him up – their mouths locking together in a desperate kiss. Tongues sliding, teeth clanking, saliva mixing between the two.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Sam whimpered, trying to wiggle out of Tate's hold.

"Stop it, let go Tate."

"No!" Tate said, "No, no, no, I love you. I love you so much. I need you."

"I know you love me too. You want me too."

Sam groaned, Tate kissing him again. Sam squeezed his eyes shut until it burned, he had to get away. He needed to get away. How does the spirits of the manor do it? How are they able to disappear and reappear somewhere else in the house?

Please. Please.

He can't.

"Sammy!"

His eyes flow open. Sam blinked, looking around himself anxiously. Tate's scream of his name echoed through the large house. Sam stumbled, crashing to ground in shock.

He did it?

…he had vanished and-and…reappeared…where?

Sam's nose twitched, scrunching up from a heavy smell. A heavy, thick smell that made him sick to his stomach. His eyes watered for more reasons than leaving the love of his life. The area was dark, and dim.

The basement.

He had gone to the basement. Why had he gone to the basement of all places?

Turning to look through an wide-open area and froze. Everything inside scrunched up and soon shattered. Two, bodies laid out on the floor. Blood pooled around them, as if they were floating on. One of the bodies were black and blue, looking as if he had been beaten to death.

The other body…the other one was soaked with water and had a gun hole in his chest. In his hand was a gun.

"Oh my god!"

"I had too…"

Sam spun around. His eyes widened, as Tate came from the shadows. His eyes half-lidded, blood-red rimmed. His hands twitched up, pressing together into his chest. He took a tiny step back, which only made Tate mimic him – stepping forward.

"W-What do you mean?"

Tate glanced over at the corpses, "They wanted to get between us. They wanted to take you away."

"Oh my god! Y-You, Chad and Patrick?" Sam screeched, "You-You, why? How?"

"I had too. Sammy, baby, I had too. I couldn't let them take you away from me, we're supposed to be together."

Sam inched back, "So you killed them?"

"They're together. It's not so bad. They'll be together," Tate shrugged, "They'll probably wake up eventually. Like how you did."

The smaller man gapped in disbelief. How? How did Tate do this? Wait? Sam suddenly recalled what Tate did to Chad the other day! The blood, the pain, oh god! He really did have the power and strength to step in.

To step in and hurt the living.

"What _are_ you?"

Tate gasped, "I'm me. I'm your Tate, you love me don't you? Say you love me, Sammy. Come on baby, it'll be alright. You just got to come back to me, everything will be alright."

Sam couldn't speak. His head swayed side to side, he inched further back. Tate's arms raised, hands stretching out towards him – the fingers spreading wide and making grabby motions. Sam whimpered, he paused briefly and just stared at Tate – his eyes beginning to water even more.

Tate's eyes. Tate's eyes were all black, and glassy again. His long eyelashes fluttering, and red rimmed.

"I don't want to see you ever again. I hate that I love you so much."

Tate straightened himself. His arms fell to his sides, and he just stared, "I knew you still loved me. I knew you love me. I knew it."

"Tate."

"Sammy. You can run all you want. You can try to hide from me, but I'll find you. I'll always find you, because I love you. I love you so much."

Sam closed his eyes. His ears picking up the scream of his name again, as he vanished from the basement.

The light of the manor had finally been put out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhh! what did you think? please leave a comment. i would really love to read what you think. i worked really hard on this. 
> 
> please remember, English is not my first language. 
> 
> i hope you liked sam! he's so cute! i wonder if anybody figured out the clues to his family? whose his mother and father? i can't wait to reveal it next chapter! and tate isn't going to give up, is he? ahhhh! 
> 
> please comment! thank you so much for reading all this and getting to the end! i hope it was worth it. 
> 
> i went more into sam's relationships with the other ghosts. not just tate. also tate won't be raping viven. i have a new bad guy that was oddly missing from the orginial story, so it will be in mine.


	2. Scattered Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who has read this! i truly appreciate it!  
> i hope you like the new and final chapter of Tate!  
> warning: gore, strong language, sexual assault

It’s been a couple of years…

Sam sighed, leaning back against the old, rusty wall behind him. His legs stretched in front of him with his arms crossed over his lap. The area was dark, and it smelt rather vile. Sam didn’t care. He hadn’t tried to clean since _that_ day.

“I’m so tired…”

Movement came from the smaller one at his side. A grunt followed it, and the familiar face appeared in front of his face.

Sam smiled pitifully, “I’ll be alright Beau.”

Beau groaned, crawling backward once again. His small form wiggling between the boxes around them, digging for his precious bear that Sam found himself repairing all the time. Sam watched with a small, weary smile, fingers picking at the scars around his fingers.

The manor was quiet today. There was no voices, no screaming, crying, no nothing. It was eerily quiet.

“Why do you have that?”

Beau paused, raising his head from the bear with a whine. He shuffled back to Sam’s side, leaning into his side like a puppy.

“Don’t you want to get rid of it?” Sam asked, “I can get rid of it, if you like?”

The smaller boy made another sound.

Sam frowned. He leant his head back, just staring up at the creepy mannequin dummy. The rubbery-black suit sat snuggly around it. His nose twitched, scrunching up in distaste. What was Chad thinking? Why would he bring that of all things to this house?

Sam sighed. He was still waiting.

Neither Chad or Patrick had wakened up yet. Moira had told him they will, in time. It was different for everyone. When somebody dies they could wake up immediately after, or they could wake up months later, years later. It all depends on their death. Sam’s death had been very violent, so he didn’t wake up for a few years.

Moira said her death wasn’t violent, not really…she was shot in the eye. Sam didn’t know how that wasn’t violent…but apparently she woke up immediately after her death.

“Hey Beau, did you wake up after your death?”

Beau cooed. He rubbed his face against Sam’s shoulder, whining soon afterward and pushing the red ball into his hands.

“Ah, you want to play. Alright.”

That was his life now. Well, his after life anyway. He wasted his day playing games with manly Beau. The only Ghost he would really come out of hiding for. He stopped coming out for Moira, only Beau.

Beau was too innocent for this house.

Rolling the ball back and forward, between the two of them, Sam sighed. It was just a sad and pathetic afterlife. Hiding in the shadows, keeping himself unseen by everyone. Dead or not.

Suddenly Beau stiffened. His head jerked up like meerkat, he made a bunch of sounds. His hands flapping at Sam.

Mutely, Sam turned around to sink into the darkness of the attic. He dragged himself further and further, until he was curled up inside an open trunk. His fingers tugging at the lid, pulling it down but not locking it.

He heard it before it entered the attic.

“Hey Beau….”

Sam gulped. He looked between the tiny gaps of the trunk, but not being able to see anything. That voice, hearing it after so long of not hearing it, sent those emotions through him. That feeling of fake heat in his gut. His toes curled with want.

Oh.

He wanted so badly to crawl back outside. Wanted to curl up in the suffocating arms, but he didn’t. He fought the urge, and pressed himself further in the trunk.

“You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Beau made a whine.

“Right. He’s gone again….”

Sam pressed his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars. He hated how sad he sounded. How heartbroken he sounded. He hated himself for wanting to make it better. He withdrawn his legs to his chest, wrapping his thin, scar-ed arms around them. Sam rested his chin on top of his knees and waited.

He heard the other curse loudly. Sam didn’t even flinch, or wince as things were thrown around, he knew the other Ghost was probably kicking or hitting anything he could.

After a while, it was quiet again.

Gentle knocks came from outside the trunk. Sam sighed, and smiled, pushing the lid open. As he poked his head out, he chuckled upon seeing Beau up against the trunk like a cat – wide eye and bush tailed.

“Thank you.”

Beau cooed.

“I know. I’m sorry I made you lie to him again.”

The young boy shrugged, and crawled back to the old nest of the blankets. He dived into them, playing with the little toys around. Sam stared after him quietly, his eyes slowly turning to look at the new chaotic mess.

He felt bad, making Beau always lie. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. And Beau seemed to understand that. It might be because Sam spends a lot of his time Beau now. Beau must like having the company.

Sam settled down next to Beau.

“I say now let's play a game

I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name

The first letter of the name, I treat it like it wasn't there,”

Beau cooed, giggling. He wiggled side to side as Sam sang the song he could never forget. The song that would always be in his head, in his mind, no matter what he did.

“But a B or an F or an M will appear

And then I say bo add a B then I say the name and

Banana fanna and a fo,”

It wasn’t that bad, he supposed. Being with Beau was enough.

He hoped, anyway.

~#~#~#~

Eyes fluttering open, Sam squinted. He never woke up this early, normally he slept most of the day away. Only really awake during the night. It was to painful to look out the window in daytime. The light of the outside world burned.

Frowning, Sam sat up. He stretched himself out, rubbing his aching back and neck in confusion.

What’s going on?

Sound. And a lot of it.

Sam rolled over onto his stomach, and crawled across the small room. It wasn’t his bedroom, he avoided that room like the plague. The room was the room he would go to, Sam avoided it due to that. Still, the only room he hadn’t looked was the small cupboard under the main bathroom, there was a tiny rectangle window in the storage room.

Sam had to balance himself on the tip of his toes to reach the window. His fingers holding the sill to peer through the glass.

People!

Why were there people? Nobody brought the house after Mister and Mrs Lyn. The couple had purchase the house after Chad and Patrick had passed away. The sells lady had lied to them about the many gruesome murders of the house.

Sam was a little bitter about that. Not even his murder was mentioned…they realized soon enough anyway. When one of the sick groupies broke in to find the room where he died in. Trying to contact the dead and shit. Sam rolled his eyes, he didn’t even remember which room it was.

Not to say Sam hasn’t tried. Since he had a lot of time to himself now, Sam tried really hard to concentrate and unlogged his memories. The smallest of details was all he was able to remember.

He liked the stars.

He liked sunflowers.

He liked salty eggs.

He liked mac and cheese.

He studied a lot. (Not that he remembered what he studied.)

His mother had sung him the Name Game as a baby. If he had a nightmare, she would sing it to him. He remembered her eyes now. Something he hoped to never forget. He wanted remember her name, see her again, but he can’t.

Sam stared down at the moving fan outside the house. A group of three stood in front of it, staring up at the house. They were muttering among themselves and the young girl didn’t look happy.

She looked younger then himself.

They had a dog.

Oh. He was a cat person.

They looked weird. Sam tilted his head, the woman were angry at the man. He wondered why that was. Sam shrugged, and dropped back from the window. The sunlight already burning his eyes, he pulled at his oversized sweater and laid back down. He closed his eyes, and tried to ease himself back into sleep, but the noise of the family moving in was too much.

Sam just laid still, his eyes open and staring at nothing particular. So much sound. How annoying. He had grown custom to the silence. 

He doubted the family would last long. They would leave in a month or so, if they’re lucky. The darkness of the house still takes people, but not as intense. Apparently it had settled a little since he had wakened up.

The shadows still grabbed people, but they were more inclined to let people go at times. Sam had witnessed many lucky people running away in fear. He wished he could run away too.

Was that man still waiting for him? The man whose name began with a K? Sam hoped so. The man must be his father. He wanted to talk to him, learn more about him…but he had not seen Billie since that day.

Billie had tried to help him, but he ran away. Idiot. Idiot. He could have been free. Free from the pain, the suffering, the darkness. His light had been snuffed out, stolen from him by heartbreak.

Ah. He hated thinking now.

Sam wished he was empty again. It was easier that way. His brain wouldn’t be going overdrive like now.

He groaned deeply, and rolled over. He faced in the other direction, curling up tightly. Sam clenched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the nose and the light from the window behind him.

Please. He just wants to sleep.

This time, as he closed his eyes, his mind set itself into a stronger drive. His mind began to put together certain images that sent lava washing over him. Images, memories of sometime ago. Soft hair and bright eyes.

A grumble escaped his lips. He slept so he could avoid this…the tightness in his gut formed, growing more and more intense. He couldn’t ignore it. Sam could never ignore, not for long, before it grows to much for him to bare.

Sam shifted on the floor. He wiggled his hips, and whimpered as he felt the friction of his jeans. His fingers trailed along the front of him, teasingly brushing the bulge with a shudder. Toes curling, and hairs standing up on end, his eyes fluttered. Carefully, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid his hand inside – his fingertips reaching further inside.

A familiar moan escaped his lips. He immediately shoved a hand into his mouth. The last thing he wanted, was _him_ to hear. Still, it felt incredibly good! To the point of his eyes rolling back, and hips arching.

Yes. Yes. _Yes._

It was so good. When was the last time he did this? It couldn’t have been that long ago, right? He swore it wasn’t that long ago but then again, it always felt like his first time touching himself.

Panting, Sam laid still against the floor, his eyes gazed up at the spider-webbed ceiling. He wiggled his hand in disgust.

Sighing deeply, he hit his head against the floor.

Of course.

~#~#~#~

A scream woke him up next. He sprung up in worry, looking wildly around himself in confusion.

Sound came from above him, somewhere upstairs. He blinked up at the ceiling, staring awkwardly until his neck was hurting. Pressing a hand to the side of his head, Sam grunted and scrambled forward, climbing to his feet. He stretched himself out until his body was cracking and popping.

Right. He had forgotten. A new family had moved in. He wondered if they had seen any of the spirits yet? Margaret was known for sneakily steal things from the living, and tended to be spotted from the corner of their eyes. The mother might see her randomly.

Nerves running up and down his body, Sam inched closer to the door. He leant his head against it, listening silently and when he heard nothing – he walked through it. He was curious. Quite curious about the family, as he always was. But unlike the other spirits of the manor, he liked to investigator his curiosity in secret without being detected.

Sneaking down the corridor, Sam was careful of making sound. The first room he looked at was the kitchen. He could see a woman messy brown curls moving back and forth around it, looking in the cupboard and soon becoming frustrated. She banged something on the counter and stressfully ran a hand through her hair.

He felt bad for her. He could tell she wasn’t doing well. Maybe she didn’t even want to be here. Why was she here if she didn’t want to be here?

Shrugging his shoulders, Sam sunk back from the door way. He tilted his head back, looking up through the ceiling again. His eyes slid shut, and she breathed in sharply, picturing a random room in his mind. It lasted a full minute, everything around him shaking before he opened his eyes to darkness.

He’ll never get used to that. Moving from room to room, sneaking through atmosphere. 

“Who are you?”

Jerking from the sudden voice, Sam turned around with wide eyes. He had been caught? He had never been caught before! Never! Not even by other Ghosts! Sam had learnt how to avoid them!

A girl stared at him, looking like she had just been walking along the corridor. Him appearing in her way took her by surprise.

“A-Are you a ghost?”

Sam just stared at her awkwardly. What should he do? Or say? His face was milky white, and he shuffled back.

“Um…”

The girl took another step closer to him, not away like he thought she would. Her long brown hair hanging in her face, her eyes spilled wide and staring at him. Her eyes ranking up and down his body, taking him all in. Sam was suspecting her to mention his ugly scars, but she didn’t.

No.

Instead she straightened herself and looked around. She then returned her eyes to him, and jerked her head to the side.

“Follow me. My parents will freak if they see you.”

Sam swallowed thickly, and nodded. Maybe he could just disappear instead? Return to his small cupboard with that tiny window? Oddly, he found himself following her. She brought him to a room on the other side of the house, opening the door and gesturing for him to come in.

The room was big. Bigger then his own room – er, his old room. It was a mess, with boxes on the floor. She hadn’t even started unpacking. Her bed was the only thing completed in the room.

“You are a Ghost, aren’t you?”

Sam looked at her with a shrug.

“You can’t talk?” she asked, leaning forward with interest.

He took a tiny step back. She was getting to close to him. Making him too uncomfortable. Instead of answering her, he decided to leave. He vanished right in front of her eyes without a word.

The girl cursed loudly. She kicked at one of the boxes, and dumped herself down onto her bed. Her shoulders hunched forward, as she sulked.

Sam almost felt guilty. Maybe she will forget about this?

Why wasn’t she scared?

Sam pouted. He tapped his fingers repeatedly against his chin. He watched her quietly, sheepishly stepping back as she moved around the room. She grabbed boxes and throw them out of her way in her frustration.

He should leave. Seriously. He should return to his little cupboard and never return, but something stopped him. He didn’t know what, but his curiosity got the best of him. He stayed in the room, watching the girl do her business.

The girl dragged a box across the floor. She ripped the tape off with a loud growl, she was very angry. Sam was pretty amazed at how bitterly angry she was. She was destroying that box in seconds, ripping it part and throwing parts the cardboard around. Digging into the mess of ripped cardboard, pens, papers and such, the girl yanked out a pale pink box.

Kicking the mess out of her way, she tracked back to her and slumped down. Tipping the box upside down, and watching the items fall to the quilt with a loud thud.

“What are you doing?”

The girl jumped, startled by him. She snapped her head around to stare up at him in disbelief, unblinking eyes.

“You can talk.”

Sam awkwardly shuffled his feet, “Um. What are you doing? You’re doing it wrong.”

“Wrong?” she frowned.

“Er, you know…that…” Sam muttered softly, nodding to the pink razer she held, “If you’re trying to kill yourself…you should cut vertically."

Looking between the razer and the brunette, the girl sighed. She dropped the razer back into the box, her nose scrunching up while grumbling.

“How do you know that?” she asked, blinking a little, “Is that how you killed yourself?”

Glancing down, Sam shrugged innocently, “Um. I was told they can’t stitch it back up…”

“So you never cut yourself?” she pressed.

Sam shook his head, “No…”

Ran her fingers through her long hair. She squinted her dark eyes at him, “Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody?”

Sam huffed, turning away.

The girl leaped to her feet, “Okay. Okay. I get it, it’s a sore spot. I won’t ask about that. Not leave.”

“Why aren’t you scared?” Sam asked, turning back to her. He raised an eyebrow, “You…you know what I am, aren’t you?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she turned away from him to gather all the things back into the pink box. She clipped it shut and stuffed it underneath her bed. She looked back at him thoughtfully.

“I was always curious about life after death. Seeing you gives me hope, I guess.”

“Hope?” Sam grimaced, “You’re not trying to, er, kill yourself…are you?”

The look on the girl’s face darkened. Her lips twisted together, forming a strong arch. She doesn’t reply to that, and instead pulls at the sleeves of her shirt, pulling it over her knuckles. Sam stared at her hands, knowing already she had been cutting herself.

"I'm not, really. Most of them were an accident."

Sam blinked. An accident? How can cutting oneself more then one, be an accident? There was sadness in her eyes, and across her face. Ah, she had been through some shit, huh? Sam shook his head, he didn’t want her to get stuck up in this and the horror’s of the house.

“Isn’t that everyone says when they get caught?”

Sam grimaced, realizing what he just said. Why! Why was he mimicking what _he_ said to him?

"If I wanted to kill myself, I'd have done it already."

“Please don’t.”

The girl blinked in surprise. She raised her head fully, “Um, what?”

“Please don’t,” Sam repeated quietly, “Please don’t try to kill yourself…it’s not worth it.”

Eyes widening, the other awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, “Er…okay?”

“No, I mean it. It’s not worth it. Being trapped in here, being dead, never being able to feel warmth – real warmth. Not being able to see your family, not being able grow up and feel the sun on your face…I don’t even remember my own mother…”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said quietly. She huddled herself up tightly, looking down as she played with the ends of her sleeve, “I didn’t mean…I didn’t know, um…”

Sam shrugged, “How would you? You’re still alive. You’re lucky, don’t lose that.”

“I’m Violet.”

Pausing, Sam returned his eyes to the girl in confusion. He blinked once, then twice, it took him to long to realize Violet was her name and not her favourite colour. His lips formed an ‘O’ and took a tiny step back.

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

Should he? Should he tell her his name? It would only draw her more into the darkness of the manor. She has to resist it, stay from it.

“You’ll see others. They will either try to scare the crap out of you, or pretend to be nice. Don’t fall for their tricks. They want one thing, and one things only.”

“What’s that?”

“…Your life. Don’t let them take it.”

Without waiting around, Sam faded out of the room. He hoped he had done enough. The girl was beginning to tip over the edge. He hoped warning her was enough to keep her in the light, and not stray into darkness.

~#~#~#~

“What’s wrong?”

Beau made another sound. He twisted both of his hands around the red ball, with drawing it onto his lap. He shrugged his shoulder.

“Beau?”

Spending so much time with Beau, Sam was beginning to understand what all the sounds Beau made meant. But even now, sometimes he doesn’t. Sam slid closer, reaching out for the smaller Ghost.

Beau whined.

“Beau? Where are you going?”

Sam sighed. He slumped, Beau having disappeared. What was that about? Beau had never done that before. He ran a hand through his hand, and climbed to his feet. Sam casted one last look across the attic, trying to spot Beau or debating if he could lure him out again to play. Sam sighed, shaking his head and disappearing out of sight.

He didn’t really care were he ended up at, he was bored and tired. Having living people in the house really messed up his comfortable schedule of sleeping the daylight away.

He wondered briefly about Violet, the girl who for some reason he didn’t know, he had spoken too. He had tried to warn her, and wondered if she generally took his warning to heart. He hoped so.

Blinking, Sam glanced around.

“Samuel. It’s been sometime since I last saw you.”

Turning around, Sam released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He meekly smiled, and waved. He was in the kitchen.

“Hey Moira.”

Moira nodded, “How are you feeling?”

“Annoyed,” Sam admitted.

Moira’s eyes became tender. She stepped closer to him, and laid a wrinkled hand onto his shoulder, squeezing him gently. Sometimes, Sam forgets that Moira generally cared for him and had tried to help him.

“I’m sorry,” Moira said softly, “I know it’s hard, having living people around again. It’ll get easier as time goes along.”

The shorter boy shrugged, “I’m sorry I haven’t, um…”

“I don’t hold it against you, dearly,” Moira smiled sweetly, “I understand. You went through a very traumatic, and horrific ordeal. It’s alright, I don’t blame you baby.”

Sam shook his head, “Please don’t call me that…”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam sighed. He turned away to kick at the floor nervously, “I…my head is scattered. I’m empty, I’m scattered now, and I hate it. I hate it so much, Moira. I can’t think straight.”

Gently, the old woman hummed. She stepped closer to him, and pulled him into a gentle hug. Her hand patting on the back of his head.

“What you need is something to distract yourself with.”

“Um,” Sam blinked, “Like what? I don’t know what to do. I liked to sleep because it shuts my brain down. But I can’t. Not with so many people in the house, making so much sound. I don’t like it.”

Moira pulled back, her hands still held his shoulders, “You could always help me with cleaning again.”

“He’ll find me so easy then.”

“Sometimes, it’s best to take a risk for your mental health then to sit back and let it desterilise.”

Snorting at that, Sam looked away. He scratched at his cheek, “We’re already dead. How worse can it get? Our mental health is already on the verge of collapsing, what does it matter if it does? We’re dead, we can’t hurt ourselves anymore.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Moira hummed softly, and gently, “Even in death we have to take care of ourselves, otherwise we could lose control of ourselves and course trouble. Course great pain, and suffering. So, tender, love and care ourselves is the best cure for that.”

Sam was quiet. Her words echoing through his head. What did that mean? Lose control and course trouble? Oh, she means that…

“Right. I’ll think about it.”

Moira smiled, patting Sam’s cheek, “You do that. I think it would generally be good for you. I hate seeing you wasting yourself away. I tried really hard to give you something to do to waste the long, endless days of ours…”

“I know. I know. Thank you Moira. You really did do all you could to help me, and I truly appreciate it.”

Closing her eyes gently, Moira smiled. She squeezed his hands much like a mother would to her son, and it really made Sam feel better. He smiled in return, hugging her back just as tightly.

“Thank you. I’ll really think about it, I promise.”

“I know you will.”

Sam stepped back, and watched as Moira disappeared. He hummed, he would never-never get used to seeing the other Ghosts disappear like that – himself disappearing was another thing too. Shrugging he turned around, and walked through the familiar corridor.

How long had it been? Since he had walked freely? Not going from room to room, having to use the odd spirit movement – what was it even called? Sam hadn’t thought about that before. It hadn’t even crossed his mind before. Maybe he should as Moira what it’s called. Teleportation? Maybe? It certainly was the same elements, right? 

Maybe this was even more dangerous then before. Living people were in the house now. Violet already knew about it. What would happen if her parents found out the truth about the house? Why would they even move into such a-a Murder House?

Grunting to himself, Sam slinked around the corner. His brain picking up forgotten memories of his time cleaning here. He had really enjoyed it. He missed it. Working around the house, cleaning, dusting, talking with Chad…

Sam wanted Chad to hurry up and wake up already. He wanted to talk to him, get advise…find out if Chad even cared…the man was like a dad for him. Sam refused to believe what _he_ told him. Chad had been so nice. So kind. He wasn’t lying, using Sam as prop to make himself seem like a better person.

Carefully, Sam walked down the hallway. He dragged his feel a little, not wanting to return to his closet quite yet. He was enjoying be able to walk around freely, but he knew it was dangerous. The living could see him, sure, but _he_ could see him. _He_ could see him, and then…Sam gulped. He didn’t know what would happen if _he_ spot him.

Turning the corner, Sam was about to climb the stairs to the second level. He wanted to see the ghastly red walls before he returned his closet. He missed Chad, so many if he saw the walls…he wouldn’t feel so lonely. Sam had helped Chad paint those walls after all, despite not liking the colour.

The office’s door was open, and voices came from inside. Sam paused, freezing in horror. The living. Violet’s parents! He turned to run away without thinking, cause he could easily vade away – a voice stopped him.

A familiar voice that made his knees weak.

The voice that he knew all too well. A voice that plagued his mind, made his skin tingle and had him gasping.

Swallowing thickly, Sam inched closer. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t be here. Not when he was thinking about what would happen if he was caught. If _he_ saw him. But Sam found himself doing it anyway. He moved closer to the doorway, slowly and nervously peeking his head out to look into the room.

Chad’s old fashion office had been taken over many times after his death. This time it looked more green.

His heart launched at the sight. It’s been so long…so long since he last saw him. His fingers trembled around the wood, watching him, seeing him…it did things to him. He still had the beautiful, honey curls and soft pale skin. His body was still lean and muscular. 

He looked the same as Sam remembered.

Wait? What was he doing in there? With a living person? Was that Violet’s father? What was he thinking? This is dangerous!

Sam frowned.

''When I was in medical school, they brought in this CIA interrogator to help us better identify who was lying. This guy was, like, six foot, 50, crew cut. He must have been one hell of an interrogator, because I'll tell you something. I'd be terrified to lie to him.''

Sam raised an eyebrow at that. What did he mean by that? He turned to stare at the man, Violet’s father? Right? It had to be…Sam didn’t know. He held his breath, not realizing he was waiting for _him_ to speak again. To hear _his_ voice.

“…You think I’m lying to you?”

Sam bites back a gasp. His eyes watered just a little, eyes snapping back to _him_. Oh dear god. His voice! It was still so…ah.

''Light sensitivity isn't a side effect of Lexapro, Tate.''

Pressing himself into the wall, Sam closed his eyes. Hearing his name, Tate’s name…it sent goosebumps across his skin. Tate. Tate. Tate. When was the last time Sam had generally seen Tate? Like this? So clearly, that Sam could just walk up to him and touch him? Sam didn’t know. He had been hiding from the blonde for so long…

Tate moved into the rocking chair, kicking his feet a little, “Oh, so you lied to me then.”

“What is important... is if you're telling the truth about doing these things to your classmates. If you were actually a danger to society, the law says that I have to report you to the police.''

Sam twisted his lips crookedly. He was so confused. What was happening? Why was Tate talking to the man? And why did the man sound like he knew? He knew things about Tate? Did he know Tate was dead? That Tate killed people? Had shoot up his old school and killed kids?

Did he know Tate was probably already planning on how to kill him and his family?

Tate gave the man a look. A look that Sam didn’t know, but it made him shiver.

''Did you call them?''

What? Call who? The police? Sam scuffed. As if the police could do anything. They were involved before, and look what happened.

The man stood up, and made his way to sit in front of Tate, “No. I haven’t, but I might have too in the future if we can’t figure this out. I've treated psychotics before, and people with the right combination of chemical imbalance and psychological damage that can't be reached.''

Psychotics?

Sam’s face scrunched up in confusion. What did that mean? What’s psychotic? Is that what Tate is? Is that the reason why Tate was so different? Why he did the things he did? Sam desperately wanted to storm into the office and demand answers. To truly understand the scary kid he loved so much, but was also scared off.

''You think that's me? You think I can't get better?'' Tate asked softly, peeking up at the man hopefully.

A expression Sam knew all too well. A expression that made wanted to wrap his arms around him in an embracement, but he didn’t. Sam held himself back. He was so tried of being tricked, used…and manipulated by Tate.

Even now…Sam wondered if this was some sort of scheme...

''You?'' the man chuckled, “You kidding me? You’re hopeless.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised to his hairline in surprise. His eyes moving between the man and Tate, worried that Tate would retaliate in some bad way. Sam would have to step in to save the man from meeting an untimely death.

''Everybody can get better, Tate. Everybody. I just think you're scared. Of what, I'm not sure yet. ''

Sam’s throat became dry. A shiver ran through him at the words. He really thought Tate could get better? Is that even a possibility?

_‘I guess, if I have to say I was afraid of anything…it would be fear of rejection.’_

Tate had said that to him once. During their second meeting? Sam thinks, he isn’t sure why he did said that.

''Maybe rejection. Certainly because of what your father did to you.''

His father? Sam didn’t know anything about Tate’s family, now that he thought about it. Only Beau, but not his mother or father. The words were harsh, and in ways Sam thought they were too harsh, but at the same time, he knew they were needed.

Tate needed a harsh dose of reality…maybe.

Sam shook his head. What was he doing? This felt like a very intimate conversation. He was like an intruder, no matter what happened between him and Tate. Sam didn’t have the right to be listening in…

With a mute sigh, Sam went to leave before Tate spoke again.

''I was afraid my big dick wouldn't work.''

…Er, what? Sam froze, his eyes growing wide in shock. His head snapped back around, looking through the door into the office. He stared at Tate in disbelief.

What did he just say? Why would he say that for?

''What?''

It seemed the man was just as shocked as Sam. Uttering the word in pure shock.

Tate grinned widely at the man, seeming to enjoy the shocked look. He laughed. Oh god. He laughed. Sam loved that laugh. God. He didn’t realize how much he missed hearing the laugh. It sent his stomach churning with glitter.

''Yeah, that's why I didn't take the meds.''

Meds? What meds? Can Ghosts take medication? He frowned deeply, fingers twitching confusingly.

''Tate,” the man finally said, laughing softly with a shake of the head.

The grin on Tate’s lips slowly slipped away, “I was afraid my dick wouldn’t work. Because I have somebody.”

“Somebody?”

“Hmm. Somebody special.”

Sam’s insides shuddered. Heat run down his spin, his breath becoming caught in his throat. His eyes widening so much when Tate suddenly turned his head. His dark eyes catching him, their eyes locking onto one another.

''Because I have somebody I love very much.”

~#~#~#~

“Sammy!”

Sam swallowed thickly. He knew it was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Why did he eardrop? Why did he stay when Tate noticed him? Did Tate know he was there from the beginning? Great! Now where did it leave him? Here! Cowering and hiding in the last place he wanted to be!

The fucking basement!

“Sammy! Baby! Where are you, please come out!”

Sam bites back a groan of frustration. Of course he bolted the first moment he could, forgetting he was a spirit and running full force through the manor. It didn’t take Tate long to come after.

He wondered what Tate said to the man to get away?

Shrugging it off, Sam pulled his legs closer to his chest. He pushed himself further against the freezing cold wall, glaring through the darkness. Rustling came from above him, and Tate rushed down the steps, into the basement.

Damn it!

“Sammy! Sammy!” Tate called out, “I know you’re in here! Please! Please! Please!”

Shaking his head, Sam buried his face into his knees. He forcefully breathed through his clenched teeth, trying to make as little sound as possible. He didn’t want to alert Tate to where he was.

The last thing he wanted was for Tate to know just where he was in the basement. Oh. How he hated the basement. He never came down here. Never.

“Sammy! Please baby! Please come out! It’s been two years! Two _fucking_ years!”

Pressing his hands into his head, Sam bites back a whine. His fingers pulling at his hair until it bloody hurt.

“It’s been two years, Sammy! _Two years_! Don’t you _care_?”

Two years? It’s only been two years? It felt like it had been longer then that…had he been hiding from Tate for two years. His eyes watered. It had been difficult at first. Tate always was able to find to him, no matter where he went or where he tried to hide, Tate found him. After a while, Sam began to learn how to control his supernatural powers, he liked to call them even if it sounded childish.

After a while, Sam figured out to make sure Tate couldn’t find him. Even if that meant moving every few days. So far, Tate hadn’t found his closet.

“Sammy…please, where are you?” Tate called once more, his voice becoming weary – watery, “Please. Please, baby, please…I just-just need to see you. Talk to you. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I won’t touch you…”

Sam’s eyes began to water. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to crawl out from underneath the old Japanese thing. Sam didn’t know what it was, a table with many clothes thrown over it. One Asian family left it here in their hurry to leave.

“I need you! Sammy! I need you so badly! I need to see you! Talk to you!” Tate sobbed, “I-I really need you! Sammy! Please, please, Sam! I-I can’t right now! It’s really bad!”

Sam pressed his hands down on top of his head until it hurt. Oh Tate. He didn’t understand what the boy was saying. What’s really bad?

“Baby! Please!”

It took everything he had to ignore it.

“Sammy…please, you’re the only one who can stop it. Who can-can settle it. I don’t want to hurt anybody. Please, please, for the love of everything, I need you! I need you right now! Come out! Please!”

Raising his head, he squinted his eyes through the darkness. He couldn’t see Tate due to the fabrics on the table. Tate’s desperate words running around his head, licking at his skull.

He can settle, what? He doesn’t want to hurt anybody? Oh Tate, what’s he planning? What’s he going to do?

A loud screech came from Tate. It took Sam by surprise, and made him jerk. His head smacking against the top of the table. As soon as he did it, he froze, his eyes growing wide and his hands slapping around his mouth in horror.

Tate had became silent. He had clearly heard the sound.

Soft slow footsteps came in his direction. Sam’s body immediately heated up with anxiousness, worry. What was going to happen? What will happen if Tate found him? He didn’t want Tate to find him, but he did at the same time. He swallowed the whine from escaping, and curled up tightly. He stared through the fabrics, waiting and waiting.

Instead of the fabric being pulled up, Sam heard Tate growl and a loud crash of something hitting the ground. He must have kicked something again.

“Fine! Stay hiding Sammy! But if I hurt somebody, it’ll be your fault! It’ll be your fault for not coming out to me! I need you! Don’t you understand! Whatever! Whatever! Be that way!”

Another crash followed his scream. Sam felt dizzy. Throbbing echoing through his head, and making his throat burn with the urge to throw up, but he swallowed it back. Eventually it went quiet, Tate must have disappeared finally.

Sam sighed. He laid onto his side, finally feeling sleepy. He hadn’t been sleepy since the new family moved in. Sam never went into the basement, but right now, he was just sleepy. So Sam curled up and forced his eyes shut.

He’ll sleep.

He’ll sleep and then he’ll leave once he wakes up again. He doubts Tate will return.

~#~#~#~

Crawling out from underneath the table was oddly harder then normally. Sam didn’t really think about why that was, only thinking about wanting to get away. He didn’t know how long he had been sleeping, but when he woke up, the house was finally quiet.

Maybe it’s night. The living slept during the night. The house is quiet expect for the wondering spirits.

He ignored the normal throbbing between his legs, and peered out through the darkness. As he gazed across the basement, the hotness melted away – thankfully. Sam didn’t want to do that down here, anyway.

Pushing through the fabrics, feeling them slid away, Sam pulled himself along the floor. He crawled at first, and then climbed to his feet. He couldn’t wait to get out of here. There was just something off about the basement, and often, he would recall what happened with that man. The man that had clearly snuck in because of Sam’s murder, all those…well, Sam didn’t know when it happened.

Sighing, he pushed a hand through his unkept brown hair. He shuffled his feet, awkwardly peering through the darkness. There was dim light coming from upstairs, as well as the little light bulbs above him. It wasn’t nearly enough to light the whole basement up. Anything could be hiding in here.

Once again forgetting about his ability to just vanish between rooms. No, he moved slow and wearily, as if he was expecting a monster to come from nowhere and grab him.

Suddenly, something moved. Sam’s head sprung up, seeing something unusual. Something he hadn’t seen before. Sam eyes growing wide with his mouth opening and shutting. He inhaled sharply, swallowing a deep breath.

A thin figure. He could see a tall, and thin figure – about the same height? No, a little taller in fact. The figure was in all black, and easily melted in and out of the shadows.

He didn’t recognize the figure. Was it a Ghost? A spirit? Sam didn’t know, but he let out a fearful cry as the figure quickly took notice of him. It paused, seeming to stare right at Sam as if it wasn’t expecting some to appear. Sam must have taken the figure by surprise.

Whatever the figure was about to do, or was in the process of getting ready to do, seemed to change by the appearance of Sam. It’s thin body twisting in unhuman ways. Yes, that definitely cleared that up for Sam.

The figure was not one of the living.

“W-Who are you?” he asked meekly.

Sam stumbled backward, almost falling over his feet as the figure turned fully to him. In the next blink, it was approaching faster then anything Sam had ever seen before.

“W-Wait! You’re getting to close!”

The figure didn’t seem to care. It came closer, and Sam stumbled backward. He fell over his own feet this time, landing on his backside. His head snapped up, eyes growing wide with fear as the figure didn’t stop – it kept coming closer and closer. Sam crawled back until he was directly underneath the hanging light bulb.

Sam froze. His eyes so wide that it hurt, and his lips twisted together, teeth clenching tightly. The figure came to stand in front of him, just on the edge of the circle of light. The body was very man like, it had to be a man.

The man slowly crouched down, coming to Sam’s height. The light catch his body, and revealing to Sam he was dressed in a skin-tight rubbery-suit.

Wait! That suit is the one from the attic!

“W-What do you w-want?”

The rubber-man stayed still, moving alien like – head swaying side to side. It was like Sam was the first human he had ever seen which can’t be right. It moved fast, crawling across the floor like a bullet.

Sam yelped, being shoved down with the rubber-man climbing on top of him. He held Sam down, hands holding his wrists and knees pinning his thighs.

“What are you doing? L-Let me go! Get off!”

The suit covered the man from head to toe, only two cut out holes that didn’t hide his eyes. The man’s eyes, they were so pretty and bright. Looking into them, had Sam’s insides shuddering with…

“Wait! Wait! What are you doing!”

Pinning Sam’s wrists together with one hand, the rubber-man’s other hand slid down his front. Feeling the fingers spread across his chest, brushing against his hidden nipples and downward, was enough to send chills through him.

Wide, and doll eyed, Sam stared. He arched his head, trying to see what the rubber-man was doing. The rubber-man’s hand stroked his stomach, rubbing his hand back and forth, heated fingernails ran along Sam’s spin. He let out a shaky breath, a sinking sensation bites just underneath his stomach and upward.

…the rubber-man rubbed his hand as if knew what he was doing.

The hand poked his fingers underneath Sam’s sweater, the feeling of the cool, latex fingers spread across the skin. Sam whined, quivering underneath the feeling of being touched. Heat spreading across his stomach, and down his sides. The latex hand laid still across his stomach, the fingers stretched out wide. Another shuddering whine crawled up his throat, and finally, the hand slid upward – dragging his sweater higher and higher until the latex fingers were resting against his throat.

Sam panted, breathing sharply. The other hand holding both his wrists together was digging into the sensitive flesh until it stung. The fingers spread across his throat caressed the soft flesh before dragging down and rubbing his nipple.

“Stop it.”

He tried to wiggle out from underneath the man in the latex suit. It was a fruitless effort. The man was holding him down, pinning him effortlessly. It was ridiculous. Sam couldn’t even turn away from the touch and what was worse, how his body reacted. The tingles, the shivers, and the heat. His hairs stood up on end as the cool fingers rubbed the nubbins, rubbings, and pinching teasingly.

No. No, he refused to like it. To enjoy it. He just refused to like it! Just because he hadn’t been touched in over two years, and only had touched himself! He craved another person to touch him, but not just anybody.

Sam didn’t want just anybody to do this.

“I don’t want to do this! Let me go!”

The latex-suited man pressed his hand across his chest, making a deep sound in the back of his throat. He brought his head in close, revealing his pretty dark eyes that made his knees quiver. He rubbed his rubber-covered face against Sam’s, twisting their mouths together. It was strange to feel the rubber against his mouth, it was off putting, so he tried to turn his head away.

Tried and failed. All Sam could do is close his eyes, and hold his breath. The pressure against his mouth became much more harsher, as if the person was trying to kiss him seriously but Sam didn’t know. It was only when he felt his jean’s being tugged on did his eyes sprung open again.

He couldn’t speak. His body shaking, the pressure on his chest had him frozen still, the hand stroked down the skin and fingers beginning to pull at his jeans. Popping the buttons open with ease. Sam’s eyes grow wide as his jeans were ripped off in one brilliant swoop.

Immediately, he tried to twist his hips away. The cold air making his skin pringle. A whimper forcing itself way through his lips, heat gathered in the directly between his legs, already becoming tight and hard. He cured himself, he wanted to ignore it and run away, but the rubber-man held him down again.

Crying out, Sam’s back arched. The hand cupped him, pressing down and rubbing roughly. Sam’s eyes widened, and he clenched teeth, hissing through his nose. His hips raised unconsciously, trying to get more friction and Sam hated himself for wanting it.

He felt like a bug. An insect under a microscope. The way the rubber-man sitting over him, staring down at him – it was nerve wracking. Sam gasped, and whimpered as the man squeezed him through his boxers. The palm of his hands rubbing the tip of him, while the fingers stretched underneath to hold his penis. Sam panted, suddenly becoming lose of breath, the heat and pressure inside him growing tenser, deeper and biting at him.

Twisting his hand, the rubber-man ripped his boxes down in one quick movement – leaving him bare all expect his sweater. Sam was horrified to see how hard he was, to see his penis blushing red and standing up to end, hoping for attention.

Eyes large, and round, he prompt his head up to stare down at himself. The latex suited man was observing him, head swaying almost unhuman-like. It made him very self-conscious, and tried to in turn his knees to cover himself. But the man grabbed his thigh and yanked it away, forcing him to spread his legs more. His hand ran across Sam’s body, touching the scars that lined parts of his limps and caressing them in awe.

Shifting closer to Sam, the man jerked himself between his legs. Hands rubbing his things, and grinding his latex-concealed hard on against Sam’s. It was rock hard and fucking hot as hell! Sam squealed, feeling the strange surface of the suit licking at his cock. The man made a grumble-sound, back arching and with one hand held Sam’s hips, and with his other hand, he reached for the zip holding his own rock hard cock back.

The cock was large, and stretched outward. It was a bright whine colour, with pretty patterns of veins going up the sides. Sam sucked in deeply, whimpering as the man wrapped his fingers around his cock and lined up with his twitchy hole.

“W-Wait! Wait! Wait!” Sam cried, shaking his hips, “Y-You can’t-can’t just put it in! You can’t just put it in! I-I haven’t, haven’t had a dick in me for two years! You gotta stretch me first! Or-Or-“

Sam’s voice cut with a shuddering gasp. The rubber-man didn’t push into him, no, instead he slipped a finger in while Sam was distracted. The feeling of something so foreign, but yet so familiar ran across his body. Sam’s head rolled back, hitting the basement floor. The finger inside him sent a river of sparks through him, it slowly moved in and out – almost gently.

Gasping, Sam trembled. His hips raised, and pushed back against the finger. Why did it have to feel so good? Another fingers entered him, twisting a little and spreading inside him – scissoring him delicately. Sam cried out, eyes rolling back in pleasure. It stung a little, it’s been too long since he had a dick inside him. He had forgotten what it would feel like, his eyes lowered to gaze at the rubber-man’s cock.

What would it feel like to have that inside? 

Wheezing, and gulping, Sam’s eyes spilled wide as the rubber-man slipped his fingers out.

“No.”

Sam tried crawl backward, tried to wiggle away from the rubber-man. But the man grabbed him by his hips, and dragged him back. He pushed Sam’s thighs open, rubbing his hands along the inside of his thighs, touching the skin – caressing it.

“Please, please-“

The rubber-man held his cock, lining it back up and then, pushed in. Sam screeched, his back arching again. The man’s hands holding Sam’s hips tightly, leaving bruises in the morning. He thrusted in, thrusting his hips in and out, slamming himself forward.

Sam sobbed. It hurt, but it was a good type of pain and he hated it! Sam hated how much he liked it! He fought the urge to push back, to thrust his hips back, and even tried to pull away again.

The man shot forward, forcing Sam’s legs to hang over his thighs. His arms bracing himself above Sam, hands caging Sam’s head and thrusting his hips harshly. Moving back and forward, plunging himself deeper and deeper into the other man.

Sam bites back every sound that wished to be released. His teeth ripping into his bottom lip, and his eyes clenched shut until he could see stars.

~#~#~#~

Sam felt numb.

He tugged at his sweater, and curled up tightly at on the floor of the closet. His legs pressing together, and pulled up to his chest. Sam reached between his legs to hold himself with a broken whimper. He doesn’t remember what happened in the basement, the man in the rubber suit appearing from the shadows and racing after him. The goosebumps still liked his skin, promising him it was very real and not a dream.

He hated that he liked it.

Sam sighed, whimpering to himself and turning over onto his stomach. He looked up at the tiny window, and grumbled. The sunlight streamed through the glass. He wanted to sleep through the day again. Sam wanted to go into a deep sleep and never wake up again.

Suddenly Sam shoot back, he crawled to the far corner of his closet. He forcefully pushed the lid of the trunk open, and dragged himself into it. The door opened just as he closed it, peering through the slight opening.

“You’re in here, aren’t you? I know you are.”

Sam frowned. He recognized that female voice. Violet entered the closet and sat down in the middle, her head slowly turning around the room. Her eyes taking in everything around her, before turning to tilt her head up at the window.

“Oh come on. I know you’re in here. I saw you come in here earlier.”

Grunting, Sam narrowed his eyes in confused. Why was Violet here? Why did she have to follow him in here?

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sam scoffed at that, and Violet’s head twirled in his direction. He cursed, straightening himself to push the lid open. He stared at the girl, unsure of what to say or do.

“Why?”

“Why are you hiding in a trunk?” Violet asked instead.

Grumbling, Sam shrugged, “I like trunks. They make me feel safe.”

“Safe?” the girl frowned, tilting her head, “Why would you need to feel safe? You’re already dead.”

Dead? He’s already dead, and he was still running around the manor in fear. Hiding from Tate, hiding from the living, hiding from everyone.

“There’s darkness in this house.”

Violet’s eyes widened, “What do you mean?”

“Violet, you may think ghosts are cool or whatever, but we’re also very dangerous. This house feeds on us, demolishes our minds, it’s not safe. It’s never safe, for the living or the dead.”

The girl was silent. She seemed to be debating his words, fingers tapping repeatedly against the ground.

“I went to the library yesterday,” she said, “I learnt about the Manor. About what happened here.”

Sam froze. His stomach clenched.

“I know there has been some traumatic deaths in this house…”

Sighing, Sam climbed out of his trunk. He came to sit across the girl, “That only proves my point. Violet, you need to leave. You need to get your parents and leave the house.”

“I can’t,” Violet shook her head, “I’ve tried. Mum and Dad won’t leave.”

The girl tilted her body back, yanking her sleeve up to reveal criss-cross white lines. She pointed at a thick line near the top of her elbow, “I made this one when they tried to ship me off to a boarding school. And that one when I overheard them talking about having another baby, they wanted to replace me.”

“I’m sorry Violet…”

“They don’t care,” she scoffed, “At all.”

“Is that why you had that box of razors?”

“…I always wondered what it would be like. You know, to die and all that…” she shrugged, “Life isn’t worth it.”

Sam frowned deeply, “Taking your own life isn’t worth it. Even if you feel like nobody cares about you, they do. I bet your parents love you more then anything. Maybe if you just spoke to them, tell them about your feelings-“

“I hate it,” Violet interrupted, “I’ve tried to speak to them. I’ve tried everything I can think off.”

Becoming quiet, Sam sighed. How far gone was Violet? Don’t do it. Don’t take your life. She couldn’t take it, or she’ll be stuck here.

''Why did you move here?''

Violet turned her head away, ''My dad had an affair with one of his students. My mom literally caught them doing it in my mom and dad's bed.''

Oh. Sam grimaced at that. He could imagine the shock and pain of that.

“That’s terrible,” he said shaking his head.

The girl shrugged, “I know. If you love someone, you should never hurt them... never.''

“Don’t get love and obsession mixed up.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam turned away. He crawled in a random direction, beginning to look through the junk of closet again. Violet stared over his shoulder, her lips pressing together in confusion.

''The worst part was that my mom had a brutal miscarriage a few months before. The baby was seven months old, and we had to have this macabre funeral. Have you ever seen a baby coffin?''

“I haven’t.”

“It’s horrible.”

Violet became quiet again. Sam debated on apologizing, but decided against it. What was the point of that?

“You should still leave.”

“I can’t,” Violet frowned, “I want too, but I can’t.”

Sam looked at her, “Only bad things will happen. Only bad things will happen to you, and your family. If you don’t try to leave soon, you’ll have a bloody end.”

“What do you mean? What bloody end?”

''Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. You're smarter than that.''

Violet sighed, “So what? There’s demons in here or something?”

“Sure. Let’s say that.”

Grumbling, Violet kicked one of the things around them. She crossed her arms tightly, slouching back in a strop.

“Can’t you, like, talk normally?”

“What do you mean? I am talking normally.”

Violet snorted, rolling her arms.

Sam turned back to her, holding an old warned book. He clocked his head, “What happened to your face?”

“Some girl jumped me at school,” she hissed, lightly touching the bruise forming on her face, “Something about smoking, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening to her. That pissed her off.”

“You should probably get some ice for your nose.”

Hands cupping her nose, Violet stared at Sam, “It’s that bad?”

Sam shrugged, “What school do you go to?”

“Westfield,” the long amber-haired woman said, “Did you attend it before you died?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t think so?”

Opening his book, he turned it to a random page and smiled. His lips pulled into a shy smile, fingers trailing along the pictures.

Eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead, “You don’t remember? Do Ghost’s not remember their life after they die?”

“It depends on their death. The more violent it was, the more likely you won’t remember it,” Sam hummed.

“Oh…so you had a violent death?”

Upon realizing Sam wasn’t going to reply to that, Violet shrugged. She turned away with squinting eyes, “…Ah well, Westfield sucks. Everyone’s so fake, and they only care about who has the richest family. East Coast was cooler. We had better weather.”

“Well, I hope that girl looks worse than you.”

Lips pulling into a wide smirk, Violet ran her fingers through her long hair. 

“I hate her! I hate her so much! I just want to kill her! It’s all her damn fault for this!”

“Violet,” Sam interrupted, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Her words died in her throat. She looked at Sam in disbelief, “You’re dead. A ghost. Aren’t you going to help or anything?”

“Help? With what?” Sam frowned, “What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Prank her, or something.”

“You…you want me to scare her?”

“Yes! That’s exactly right!” Violet gasped, slapping her hands together, “Prank her! I could lie to her, or something, get her to come to the house. Er, send her down into the basement-“

“No.”

Violet blinked.

Sam gave Violet a dry look, “No. I’m not going to do that. Nothing like that. Don’t do anything stupid. I get it, she bullied you and you hate her for that, but she’s probably struggling just as you are. Maybe try talking to her, who knows, you might become friends.”

“Friends?”

Violet scuffed at that, “Yeah right! Like I’d want to be friends that thing!”

“That’s your problem, Violet. You’re not trying.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop looking for the easy road! Killing yourself isn’t going to be easy, isn’t going to make you feel better, it’ll be worse! Fucking man up and face the hurdles! Violet, you’re not a baby!” Sam snapped, bristling.

She was lucky! So damn, fucking lucky! And she wanted to throw it away, over what? Some high school drama? Because her parents were struggling? Sam’s pretty sure many people go through those problems, and probably have worse problems!

“You don’t know anything about me-“

“I would give anything to be where you are!” Sam huffed, “To be alive again! To be able to leave this damn house! To have a mum and dad that loves me! So what if you had a difficult day at school? So what if your parents are going to split? It’s not the end of the world! Violet, you still have your whole life laid out in front of you!”

“Don’t be so fucking stupid!”

Without waiting for her to reply, Sam closed his eyes. He immediately vanished away from his closet.

Great. He’s gonna have to find a new place to hide now.

He hoped nobody else in the manor had noticed the darkness inside Violet.

He was trying to save her.

~#~#~#~

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He pushed the red ball back into the darkness, waiting for it to return – it did after a few minutes.

Beau made a whine.

“I’m alright. No need to worry Beau.”

The young boy shuffled in front of him. His larger form crawling closer to Sam, making a range of grunts and whines.

“Really Beau,” Sam smiled softly, “You don’t need to worry.”

It was sweet that Beau worried so much about him. He wished he wouldn’t. Sam wished Beau would be more relaxed. He didn’t want Beau to come stressed because of him, the poor kid had his own things to deal with – even if Beau didn’t know them.

Between the annoying alive girl, and the Spirit in the latex suit, Sam was still so very scattered. He felt the safest up here, with Beau. Nobody would even approach him up here, not with Beau at his side.

“Do you mind if I stay up here with you, for a while?”

Beau made a soft, sweet sound at that. Probably sensing how Sam was feeling. Sam smiled, closing his eyes as he sat down next to the other ghost. Their sides pressing together.

“A lot has happened to me in the past few days…”

Beau whined.

“Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it…”

Eyes fluttering open, Sam looked through the attic. Something inside him leaped in disbelief. His eyes widened, and he straightened himself, sitting up straight and making Beau whine again.

“W-What happened to-to the suit?” he asked in a hurry, pointing at the naked mannequin, “I-I, it was there last week. Where did it go?”

Oh god. It was the same suit.

Making a few quiet sounds, Beau shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Sam’s eyebrows creased, “They throw it out?”

The Harmons had thrown the suit out? But how did that person appear wearing it? Which ghost was it?

His thoughts were broken by the sound creaking in the attic. His head sprung up in concern. Who would come up to the attic? He hoped it wasn’t _him_! If it was, Beau would have warned him? Right? That’s what Beau has been doing! But Beau was sitting there calmly, head luring against his shoulder and everything.

Who was it?

“Trick or Treat!”

“Abby?”

The little girl was no little girl. She was older then he remembered, sprouting up to his shoulder! Her hair wasn’t as messy as he remembered either, it was straight and pulled back in a braid.

“Hey Sam! Beau!”

Beau cooed, waving.

“You guys know eachother?”

Sam blinked, looking between the two. Out of everyone in the manor, Sam was relieved to learn that Abby wasn’t dead. That Abby was alive and truly did live next door. But why did she keep sneaking into this place? If she knew about the Ghosts, the spirits that haunted it?

“He’s my brother!”

Beau made another sound. His head bouncing up and down excitedly. Abby skipped up to him, and throw herself at him. Beau caught her in a wide embrace.

Oh, so that’s why. Abby snuck in here to see her brother. Wait.

“Tate’s your brother!”

Abby grinned, “Hu-uh. He’s the oldest of us.”

Sam’s eyes widened. His mouth opening and shut, looking between the two. Neither looked anything like Tate. How can they be related? They had brown hair, where did the blonde come from?

Wait. That meant Constance was…was…oh. Sam grimaced at the realization. He blinked the thoughts away, feeling the strong sense of being stared at – which he found to be true. Both of the young siblings were staring up at him with look of, well, Sam didn’t know.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you still fighting?”

“What do you mean Addy?” Sam pouted.

Addy groaned dramatically, rolling over onto her stomach and knocking her head against Beau’s.

“I mean! You and Tate!” she grunted, “Are you still fighting? Cause Tate’s grumpy! He’s always been grumpy, but this is a different grumpy! More sad too! Right Beau?”

Beau goggled, and Abby gasped.

“You’re hiding from him? Why!”

Sam slid back. He withdrawn his legs up to his chest in disbelief. They were Tate’s younger siblings? He had been playing with Tate’s little brother…Abby was his sister. Ah. Poor Abby, what was it like to lose both of her brothers?

“Don’t you have another sibling?” Sam suddenly recalled, “Um, your mother said she had four.”

Abby shrugged, “You mean Rose.”

“Rose is here too then?”

“No,” Abby shook her head, “She died at the hospital.”

Oh. Well that explained he guessed. Oh. Abby really did lose all her siblings. She’s the last one…

“You’re avoiding!”

“Huh?”

Abby grinned smugly, pointing a finger at him, “You’re avoiding the question!”

“Question…” Sam repeated softly, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“Once.”

The young girl pouted, “What do you mean? Once? You were happy, weren’t you? Ma said when you fall in love, it’s the best thing in the whole world!”

Beau made a grumble at that.

“Aw, come on Beau!” Abby said, “Don’t be like that!”

Sam winced. Beau made another whine at her words. His eyes moving back and forth between the two, mutely wiggling between the sudden angry siblings.

“Um, what’s the matter? Beau, why are you so upset?”

“He’s upset cause Papa left!”

Papa? Tate’s father.

Sam remembered the man, and Tate’s conversation. Tate was like how he was because of what his father did.

What had the man done? Why did both Tate and Beau dislike him?

“I don’t understand…”

Abby shook her head, “I wouldn’t worry about it! Tate and Beau both are funny like that! They don’t like either of our Papas!”

“You have two?”

“Once.”

“Oh.”

Abby giggled, “Halloween is coming again! I wanna be a pretty girl again!”

Halloween. At the mention of it, Sam’s eyes became sadden. He had been avoiding Halloween, sleeping through it every year. Not when his first memory of it had him sobbing. His first date had resulted in such wonderful but painful memories.

Halloween…

“Oh, but you’re beautiful Abby,” Sam said quietly, “You don’t have to change yourself for anyone. You’re gorgeous.”

Abby blushed. Her head lowered as she played with the end of her skirt.

“You’re so nice, Sam!”

“It’s true,” Sam smiled, “Right Beau. Abby’s pretty already, isn’t she?”

Beau squealed happily. He clapped his hands, moving closer to his sister and hugging her. Patting her on the back, to which made Abby giggle.

“You’re more beautiful then any girl I’ve seen,” he grinned, flicking her on the nose, “And Beau is one of the most handsome boy I have ever seen.”

Both of them smiled up at him. Sam hoped nothing would ever destroy their innocence.

“You both definitely have attractive appearances.”

After a while, Sam left the attic. The house was unusually quiet, and Abby begged for him to walk her back. He awkwardly waved, watching as she disappeared out of the garden gates. Oh, how he wished he could follow her. He wished he could leave through the gates too. But alas he was trapped here. Trapped back in the manor, with other spirits and a stupid living family.

“Samuel.”

Jumping in surprise, Sam spun around. His face heating up from embarrassment.

“Whose this?” asked a woman.

Moira straightened herself, “My…son.”

“You’re son? I didn’t know you have a son.”

“He normally lives at his boarding school, but occasionally he would come to visit. He helps me stay on top of the cleaning too, when he’s here. I hope that’s not a problem is it?”

“Of course not.”

Sam sheepishly looked between the two woman. His eyes moving from the new lady of the house to Moira. She had lied again. He was so tired of lies.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Samuel,” the woman smiled down at him, “I have a daughter around your age. Maybe a little younger, I hope you guys will become friends. My name is Vivien.”

Breathing in sharply, to calm himself, Sam nodded.

“It’s nice to meet you too, um, Vivien…”

“It’s very sweet you’re helping your mother.”

Sam awkwardly smiled, “My mother is very old. She needs all the help she can get.”

Vivien laughed at that, while Moira sent him a dry look. Sam just innocently smiled back. The moment was broken when the door creaked open, the three of them turned to see a familiar woman creeping in as if she owned the manor. Her tight curls of blonde, and pale skin, Sam knew who that was immediately.

‘She’s really Tate’s mum.’

He could definitely see it now. They looked alike, that they did.

“Hello,” she greeted, holding a plate of cupcakes.

Cupcakes. Sam hadn’t had one, well ever. Turns out, you don’t need food when you’re dead. Maybe that’s why Tate never let him eat or drink anything back then. When he wanted ice-cream, and when he could have gotten it, Sam realized he didn’t want it or when that high schooler tried to shove a drink into his face.

“Constance, hello,” Vivien spoke, her lips forming a weary smile, “It’s not a great time right now.”

"I just wanted to bring these by as a little peace offering for Addy disturbing your slumber last week."

Abby snuck in during the night. Sam shuddered, remembering where he was during that night. It had to be that night, as he was awake normally and definitely would have heard the commotion. The one night Sam was forced to do something else…

He grimaced, especially a familiar heated chill ran through him.

Nope. Gonna ignore it the best he could.

"I'm gonna have to start strapping her in at night again."

That made Sam’s head sprung up, “You strapped Abby in?”

“Oh, hello Samuel,” Constance said, turning towards him with narrowed – crackling brown eyes. The smile on her face was wicked, “It’s been a _very_ long time since the last time I saw you.”

She knew, huh. Constance knew he was dead. Of course she did.

Vivien glanced between the two of them, “Ah, um, well I truly appreciate it, Constance. I'm not usually much of a cupcake girl myself, but-"

"They're not for you, " Constance said, pulling the plate toward her, "At your age?"

Sam frowned, “You don’t have to be rude, Constance.”

“It’s alright Samuel…” Vivien sheepishly said.

Constance shrugged, a smug smile appearing across her faces, “I’m just calling it as I see it. You might as well just Krazy Glue a stick of butter to your ass. These are for Violet.”

Sam lowered his eyes stare at the cupcakes. Only now realizing they had purple flowers on top of them. He shared a look with Moira, clearly Constance was up to something. He gestured his head towards them, and Moira nodded.

What had Constance put in them? She wasn’t seriously trying to kill Violet? Was she?

"Oh, I see the little flowers."

Sam grumbled, crossing his arms tightly, “They’re sure nice…aren’t they.”

"Candied violets," Constance hummed, admiring her work, "They're from a wonderful Mexican market on Alvarado Street. I'll give you the name. Just don't go after sundown."

Why? What would happen if they go after sundown?

Vivien nodded awkwardly, “Okay, um, thank you.”

Constance paused, her eyes running up and down Vivien. It was strange, and it made Sam’s skin crawl. She looked almost disappointed. Sam didn’t know why.

“You’re trying for a baby?”

Sam’s jaw dropped. Who asks that? 

"I could smell that little angel the second I walked in the door." Constance paused to add, "Pheromones."

Vivien flushed. She awkwardly shrugged her shoulders, “We’ve been thinking about it…Ben and I…if it happens it happens.”

Constance nodded, “The great gift to life is children. So, uh, is Violet home? I'd like to hand these to her personally. I'm a sucker for penance."

Vivien shook her head, “Um, no. She’s not here, it’s a school day and er, yeah.”

Violet was at school? That’s good. Sam was worried she would seriously do something stupid about this bully of hers. He wondered how she dealt with them? What she did in the end. Ah. Would that be a rather awesome thing if she did confront them and became friends, or something.

“What are you smiling at?”

Sam blinked, “Excuse me?”

“You have a pretty smile, dear.”

Eyebrows raising to his hairline, Sam took a step back, “Oh – er, thank you. You have really…nice hair.”

Constance laughed, “What a sweet young man you are. So charming. It’s a shame I didn’t bake a cupcake for you.”

The way she said it. Was she challenging him? What? But she knew he was dead, right?

“Thank you, but I don’t like cake.”

The woman snorted, raising an eyebrow at that. Her lips pulled into a wicked smile.

"Well, I'll be going. I'll come back later when Violet is home to hand her the cupcakes, in person."

She was definitely up to something. She had to be. She had put something in the cakes.

"Constance? How did you, um know about…the baby thing?"

Constance paused, looking back at Vivien with a wide smile, “I just know things, love. I can smell it on you.”

“Oh,” the woman blushed, “Um. Can you smell anything else? Er, I know I’m not pregnant yet…but I might be soon and…”

Constance snaped her fingers, “Moira, two sugars please. And you, are you worried about something in particular?”

Mora’s face twitched, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she turned around to slink back to the kitchen. Sam watched her go with a annoyed frown. Why was Constance such a…

“Er, Mum, do you need help?”

Moira smiled at him, “It’s alright. I got it.”

“You’re so sweet, Samuel,” Constance said, giving him a look.

Vivien played with her fingers, "Can I ask you a personal question? If you had known about Addy before she was born would you have done something? When I first met you, you said that if they'd had the tests back then that you might have-"

Constance sighed deeply, straightening herself up, "Oh, don't think I didn't think about it, even after she was born leaving that little bug-eye out in the cold. That's what they do in China. But a mother never turns her back on her child. Every one of mine was pure love."

Sam raised an eyebrow in thought. How was all but one of her babies dead then?

"My husband was the spitting image of Van Johnson. You'd think we'd make little cherub children, fat and lively but it wasn't meant to be," Constance said with a sad sigh, "I think our beauty was an affront to the gods."

She said the exact same thing to Chad. Sam glared at the woman, especially when she shot him another look.

"All four of them had Down's?" Vivien asked.

Yes. Sam had certainly heard this conversation before.

"Or some such malady." Constance looked away with an upset look on her face, "Except for one. He was a model of physical perfection. He was my gift, but I lost him to other things."

This time, Sam realized what she was saying. She was talking about Tate. Sam squinted his eyes, narrowing at her again, what did she do to make Tate so twisted?

Suddenly the man that Sam had seen talking with Tate entered the kitchen. He was fixing his fancy watch, “I’m off-“

Where was he going? He was going to leave his wife and child in a house like this? Ah, well, he didn’t know about the horrors of this manor. Maybe Sam could…like mention something…like he did with Violet?

“Oh, hello.”

Sam jerked, realizing the man was speaking to him.

Vivien smiled, “Samuel, this is my husband, Ben. Ben, this is Samuel, Moira’s son.”

“Moira’s son!”

Sam stared, “She’s not my real mother. She took me in.”

“Oh,” Ben blinked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Oh, that’s, um…cool. Nice to meet you Samuel.”

Constance laughed, “Gave you quite scare, huh? Samuels quite old, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Sam shot Constance a look. The woman looked away with that smile again. Sam didn’t get the looks or what Constance meant. But he had a feeling it wasn’t anything good, and he couldn’t help but feel a spark of protection.

Ben eyed Constance, "What are we gonna do about Addy, Constance? Oh, cupcake."

Constance smacked his hand, "Not for you.”

Finally Moira returned with a tray of tea. She piontly ignored Ben and placed the tray onto the table. As she did so, Ben gulped. Sam frowned, staring at Ben. Why was she looking Moira like that?

Sure, Moira really wasn’t his mother but she took care of him. Acted like his mother.

She was his mother, in ways.

“Moira, darling. Put these away somewhere until little Violet can have them," Constance nodded to the plate, "The Harmons here are offending my largesse. And don't forget the crumbs on the table."

Constance smiled a smug little grin, "Moira and I go way back. Isn't that right? Why, I even employed her for a time. I hope her dusting has improved."

"Your sense of humour was, and continues to be, a delight."

Sam frowned, not liking how Constance was talking to her. He crossed his arms tightly, “Yeah, but you weren’t the best employer. Very, what’s the word? Oh obnoxious.”

“My-my, you certainly grow up,” Constance said, “Grow a backbone.”

Clocking his head, Sam smirked, “Kinda have to with you are.”

Constance glared.

Sam turned around, “Is it alright if I leave now. I have to study.”

What a lie.

“Of course.”

~#~#~#~

Entering his closet, Sam was careful encase Violet was hanging out in there. He slowly slinked further in, eyes running around the small room quietly. It looked like somebody had went through all the junk, searching for something.

He snorted. Had Violet hoped to find something in here?

Suddenly, the door swung open. Sam spun around and yelped, falling backward when Violet throw herself at him.

“You were right! Oh my god! You were right!”

Sam grimaced, “Violet, please, get off me!”

Violet blinked. She scuffed and rolled away from him. She sat up onto her knees, and Sam noticed her face was pinkish, her eyes sore and red-rimmed.

“You’ve been crying?” he questioned.

“You were right,” Violet whimpered, “I didn’t something stupid!”

Sam frowned in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Huffing, the girl stropped to the ground. She stomped her feet, “You were right. This house is fucked up. The other ghosts are fucked up. I…”

Eyes squinting, and hardening, Sam clenched his hands. He took a step back from the younger girl, keeping himself as calm as possible but still annoyed.

“What did you do?”

Violet looked away, “I…found another spirit.”

“What?”

“I ran into another Ghost. It was by accident. I guess we share the same room, or something,” she shrugged, “But that doesn’t matter. He said he could help me get back at Leah!”

He? He? Same room? What was Violet’s bedroom again?

A sickly sensation run through him. Oh god. What did he do? He didn’t kill the girl, right?

“It was supposed to be a prank!” Violet cried, “It really was, but he took it too far. She was terrified and covered in blood! Her face was all scratched up! I don’t know what happened! He told me to take her to the basement, and I saw something!”

The basement? Disgust ran through him, all the bad things happened in the basement. The thing that attacked the man in the basement, ripped his chest up and the man in latex suit. Sam trembled as remember the man.

“It had long nails! Sharp claws! And it’s teeth! It’s teeth were long, sharp but tiny-“

“Violet, whose idea was it?”

~#~#~#~

He didn’t know what he was doing. It was a bad idea. This was a terrible, terrible idea. He shouldn’t be doing this. No, he shouldn’t.

Sam should just got to the attic. Go and curl up with Beau, play games and the sort. But no, he was standing in the doorway to the basement. He stared down into the darkness, he shuddered with annoyance, with anger.

He was fuming. He was just tired of lies, of tricks…something really was down in the basement. A monster.

Sam inhaled sharply, and took a step forward. He paused right in front of the doorway, turning his body a little.

“Tate. I know you’re there.”

It was quiet. No rushing footsteps, no nothing.

“Tate?”

Nothing. How strange. Sam was truly suspecting Tate to come running at the call of his name. Sam remembered Tate screaming for him, searching for him, begging to see him, to talk to him.

Why wasn’t Tate coming to him now? Where was he?

Sighing, Sam shook his head and returned his attention to the darkness at the bottom of the staircase. He had to know. Had to understand what was lurking in the basement. Climbing down the stairs, Sam reached for light but just as he was about to flick the switch, he heard voices.

“I can’t.”

“You must!” a feminine voice gasped, “You have too, you promised, dear.”

Sam swallowed. He tilted his head, staring through the darkness in confusion.

“B-But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t d-do that. I just can’t.”

“Sweetie. You promised me. Don’t you remember? You can’t back out now.”

“No, I don’t want-“

Sam flicked the switch immediately, lighting up the basement within seconds. His eyes adjusted to the light, and found his breath becoming trapped in his throat.

“Sammy?”

Sam stared at Tate. Unsure of what to do or say, his insides launched with want. He wanted to throw himself at the other boy, wrap his arms around him and kiss him. Sam wanted to feel Sam against him, wanted to feel the sensation of hands caressing him.

“Hello sweetie.”

He turned his eyes to the other person with Tate. A familiar woman, with the long golden dress. He remembered seeing a few times, just wondering around upstairs. She never left that corridor, and was always in the same place.

“Nora,” he said, pointedly staring at her, “What are you doing down here?”

Nora smiled secretively, “Nothing you need to worry about, deary. Nothing at all…” she paused, looking over at Tate, “Don’t forget your promise to me.”

Tate bites his bottom lip and looked down. He doesn’t reply to Nora, stepping away from her when she reached out to touch him. Sam felt a vile sensation creep through him at the sight. There was something up between them, the way Nora acted to Tate…he didn’t like that. He wanted to drag Tate away.

A creepy smile grow across Nora’s face. She forcefully laid a hand onto Tate’s cheek, forcing him to look at her.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said softly and disappeared afterward.

Unsure if he wanted to step closer to Tate or away from Tate. It’s been a long time since he had generally seen the blonde haired boy. Sam swallowed thickly, pulling at his sweater as Tate’s gaze drilled into him. Sam had spent so long running away from the boy, hiding from him. But there was a reason why he was down here, after all, but…

“S-Sammy?” Tate repeated quietly, “It’s…you…”

Sam stared. Tate’s eyes. His beautiful eyes were red-rimmed, not as bad as they were before. On that night where Sam removed himself from, but he had been crying.

“What are you up too?” Sam forced himself ask sternly, “The new girl. The living girl, Violet, said you helped her with prank.”

Tate’s face changed. Tangling between hurt and annoyance, “She wanted help. Help dealing with a bully.”

“Yeah, but what did you do? What type of prank was it?”

“Why does it matter? One less girl for Violet to deal with.”

Sam frowned. Tate was calling her by her first name? He turned his eyes away, feeling the familiar snake of jealousy churning inside him. Did they talk a lot? Violet knew he was dead, obviously, she had said she ran into another ghost. But what did they do? Did Tate visit her at night? They shared a room apparently and –

“Hey, are you jealous?”

Jerking, Sam’s head swung back around to Tate. The blonde was wide eye, and bushy tail, looking almost excited.

“No.”

Tate stared. His dark eyes seeming into look into his soul, just like on that night all those years ago. He took a daring step closer to Sam, which the brunette only backed away again.

“Sammy, baby-“

“What’s down here, Tate?” Sam interrupted quickly, “I know it wasn’t just a prank. I know it was something more. I _remember_ seeing _it_ too.”

Tate shook his head, “No, there’s nothing-“

“Stop lying!” Sam interrupted. He paused, breathing in softly to calm himself, “No more lies. I want the truth. I’m already dead, what else do I have to lose?”

“No, Sammy, don’t talk like that. You still have so much to lose.”

Sam tilted his head. It was sweet. He forgot how gentle Tate can be…but Sam knew what was really behind those eyes. The eyes he loved so much.

“Like what? Tate, I’m dead, you’re dead, most people in this damn manor is dead. It’s our reasonability to make sure nobody else joins us down here.”

“Our reasonability?”

“That’s right,” Sam said, awkwardly stepping closer, “So, tell me what’s down here.”

He held his breath, and walked closer to Tate. His hand raised out to him, forcing himself to smile kindly at him, encouragingly. Sam whole body flushed with warmth and giddiness as Tate looked upon him intensively, and grabbed Sam’s hand.

Touching Tate again was everything. Even if it was just hand-holding. It only increased when Tate squeezed his hands.

“Alright, okay,” Tate said, “I’ll show you. I’ll show you.”

Sam smiled, “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me for this, Sammy…this is…something else.”

What did that mean? What type of spirit was down here? Despite being with Tate, somebody who had a very sensitive history with, he felt safe. It was silly, really, to rely on Tate like this but he couldn’t help it.

Other then going into the basement to learn about whatever was down here…the last time he was down here, he saw the rubber-man. He unconsciously stepped closer to Tate, fearing of seeing the man again, but also…enjoying the encounter like before.

The basement seemed colder than normally, well colder for the dead. Even with the dim light, the basement was still quite dark. Sam’s eyes ran around the areas he could see, noticing the table he had hidden underneath had moved from one wall to the other.

Tate gently squeezed his hand, as if he sensed Sam’s discomfort and anxiety.

“So, where exactly is this…er…”

“Um,” Tate began awkwardly, “It’s…it’s this way…”

Sam nodded once. He kept his eyes on the shadows, suspecting something to be hiding and preparing to strike when they least expect it. Which was probably true. Still, he couldn’t help but gravitated closer to Tate.

He felt eyes in the shadows. They were being watched, but Sam couldn’t tell by who, or where they were.

“It was a baby once.”

Sam blinked, tilting towards him, “What do you mean? Once?”

“…It was a baby once…” Tate repeated with a small shrug, “Once a upon time…”

“I don’t-“

Sam was interrupted by an inhuman whine. His head spun away from Tate to look in the direction the sound came from. His eyes squinting through the darkness, trying to make something out in the shadows.

“Infantata, behave!”

Mouth opening, but voice dying in his throat, Sam became incredibly confused. He shakingly turned to the darkest corner of the basement, staring with unmoving eyes at the outline of a tiny body.

Another baby-like goggle came from the shadows.

“W-What?”

“Mommy?” the tiny voice cracked and broke, sounding very raw and inhuman, “Mommy?”

Stumbling back, Sam stared wide eye as a creature like no other crept out. It small body jerking back and forth, it’s limps cracking and popping with every inch it took. It’s skin looked rubbery white, with pointed ears and little to no hair. Blood red eyes oozed at him, his lips reeling up to reveal rows of tiny sharp teeth.

“It’s alright. He won’t attack us,” Tate said calmly, “We have no blood.”

“No blood?”

Tate lowered his head, “Infantata is…blood thirsty…”

“Blood thirsty,” Sam whispered, staring down at the little creature, “Wait! Wait! Blood thirsty! You seriously could have got Violet and the other girl killed!”

Ripping his hand free from Tate, Sam couldn’t believe it. How ridiculously stupid! Of course Tate would do something like that! Of course!

“To think I was hoping you had chance…”

Tate’s eyes widened, he made to grab onto Sam, “I have! I mean, I can! Sammy, please!”

“No. No, you’ll always be-be like this…” Sam whimpered, backing away, “Stay away from me Tate. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Sammy! Wait! Please!”

Sam shook his head, and disappeared from the basement. He would never get the creature hiding down there.

Why did he have to love Tate so much?

Why did it have to hurt so badly?

~#~#~#~

Halloween was coming up again. Whenever it did, Sam always became sadden. He will never forget his first Halloween, where Tate took him to the park. The Halloween bonfire will always be something special.

Sam wondered what those teenagers do during that day, when they can’t find Tate…

Violet and Tate talked. How much to they talk? What do they do exactly? Sam couldn’t help the throb of annoyance at the thought. What is Tate thinking? Drawing Violet in like that, when she’s on the verge of the iceberg. Sam sighed deeply, drawing his knees up to pushing his face between his knees, fingers digging into his legs – not that it hurt or anything. The flesh healed within seconds.

Oh god. He was jealous. He really was. What’s wrong with him? He’s jealous because Tate’s latched onto the one thing that would pay him any attention?

Ugh! Sam smacked himself, willing himself to pull it together.

“Sorry Beau, I have so much in my damn head these days…”

The other Ghost made a sound. He shuffled back into the cushions, his legs flapping up and down. Sam smiled after him. The most innocent spirit in the manor, seeing him always made Sam feel better.

Even if Beau was Tate’s brother.

Suddenly Beau whined deeply, shuddering. He wiggled further into the mountain of the cushions, to get away from something.

“What’s the matter, Beau?”

Another whine came from him.

“Something bad is happening?” Sam repeated, his eyebrows raising to his hair line, “What do you mean? Downstairs?”

Crawling on his knees at first, and then climbing to his feet, Sam rolled his eyes around himself in confusion. Beau was sensing something inside the house. Was it Infantata? Had the spirit go out of the basement, and was attacking the Harmons?

Screams. Sam could hear screams and cries all of a sudden. His eyes widened, his eyebrows crawling higher and higher up his forehead.

What was going on?

Breathing in sharply, Sam reached deep inside himself – picturing the main hall in his mind and soon, his body fizzled out of sight. Reappearing in said hall, Sam’s head twirled around. As he looked around, he noticed Margaret hiding in the far corner.

“Margaret? What’s going on?”

The little girl jumped, “Sam! You’re here!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Invaders. People broke in, um, I don’t want to see a murder!”

Sam’s eyes widened, “It’s okay. Go hide yourself in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I’m sure you won’t see anything.”

“W-What about you? Can’t you come with me? I haven’t seen you in such a long time!”

Crouching down to her level, Sam forced a strained smile, “It’ll be alright. You go ahead, once this is over, we’ll play any board game you’d like.”

Margaret looked like she was going to protest when another blood-curling scream cracked through the air. She shuddered, her already white face becoming even whiter. She nodded once, and vanished right in front of his eyes.

Rubbing his neck in relief, Sam straightened himself again. He turned in the direction he heard the screaming.

“I have a surprise for you guys.”

“No way!”

“I got it on eBay. Authenticated. It’s the one he used to dismember the kid.”

“Let me see it! Holy shit! You can literally feel the energy! This is real bitchin! Shh! I wonder if we can still smell that famous-bitches blood!”

Inching to the doorway, Sam poked his head through. He could see three people. As Sam came closer, he recognized the piece of clothing one of the people were wearing. He didn’t know where, but the mustard coloured fabric was something…he didn’t know what…

“I thought it was a boy?”

“It doesn’t matter. So what if it’s a girl! She can still play him!”

“…I guess. It wasn’t really sexual, right?”

“Screw you, Psycho!” a familiar voice screeched, “I’m not putting this on!”

“You have to. Everything has to be perfect.”

Violet and Vivien. They had them on the ground. What were these people doing?

“Hey! Hey!” Vivien suddenly said, “You’re doing it wrong. I mean, he was male, not female. You’ll be doing it wrong if you use either one of us.”

“We thought about that before we realized how proud he would be. Not only would we be recreating his masterpiece, but we would be adding something new. A new twist. To prove how much, he inspired us, and how we worship him.”

Vivian shook her head, “We’re not going to be part of your re-enactment…especially not that one…his mother is still alive…and…”

“Oh!” one of the capturers sneered, “And what? You brought the house her son died in. Was murdered in. You knew what you were getting into. Don’t play coy now.”

Sam’s throat became dry. His eyes blurred slightly as he listened to them. Were they…talking about his murder? Wait, they wanted to re-enact it? That meant they wanted to dismember Violet! Sam couldn’t let that happen! He had to do something, but what?

What could he do to save them?

Suddenly a yelp came from the room. Sam’s head flung back up in time to see Violet shove the woman down, and run off. Vivian quickly tripped the man when he tried to chase after her, and then nailed him in the shin with her other foot.

“You bitch!”

Vivian was slammed into the ground by the other person. She let out a cry, and struggled against him, but failed.

“Go get the runaway bitch!”

Sam swallowed thickly. He moved faster then he thought, wrapping his lips around two fingers and whistling loudly. Faces raised in his direction, and a horror-piercing shudder ran through his chest.

“Holy shit! It’s a guy!” the red-head said, “A kid!”

The guy grinned widely, “Man! We really striked out! Looks like we don’t need the girl after all!”

Vivian’s eyes swept between Sam and the three captures, “Sam! Runaway! Runaway right now!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

“Sam!” the woman laughed, “He even shares the same name! Fuck! We really did strike out!”

Sam straightened himself, “You’ll have to catch me first!”

“You little –“

“Get him! Don’t let him get away! We need him!”

Sam ran as fast he could, speeding out of the room and cross the hall. As soon as he disappeared into the hallway, he pictured the dining room in his mind – disappearing just as the others entered the hallway. Reappearing outside the dinning room door, he paused a second before sneaking back in behind the man.

Vivian’s eyes locked with his. Sam made a ‘shh’ motion with his finger, and as he got closer to the man, he grabbed for the Harmons large fruit bowel. Sam had never hurt somebody before, had never inflicted pain to another person but in that moment, knowing this man wanted to hurt a innocent person…

He smashed the bowel into the man’s head. The man immediately fell to the floor, Sam stared down at him in shock.

“Sam, Sam, it’s alright. It’s alright.”

Sam nodded, stepping over to Vivian. He cut the rope that bound her, and helped her up. The woman grabbed onto him, shakingly.

“How did you?”

“I grow up in this house,” Sam said hurriedly, “I know all the ins and outs. It was easy to from the lounge corridor back to the kitchen, and then in through the back door.”

Vivian nodded. Her eyes blown wide, she tilted her head to look down at the man. Immediately her face flushed red with anger, and she delivered a powerful kick to his side. She repeated it twice, three times before stumbling back.

“Fucking asshole.”

Sam only stared. It was too easy to lie. Vivian didn’t even question him.

“Vivian, if you go out the back door of the dinning room, you will end up in the kitchen. Go out the back and climb over the garden wall, there’s a phone booth right on the other side.”

“But Violet-“

Shaking his head, Sam stepped closer, “I’ll get Violet. You need to get out of here.”

“What? But you’re just a kid, I can’t leave you to take care-“

“It’ll be alright. Everything will be fine. Vivian, you need to take the chance to call the police. Otherwise, we’ll all be dead.”

Vivian wanted to protest, to fight more and Sam understood why. She was the adult. Out of him and Violet, she was the grown up and they were kids. But Sam had one thing above her, and it wasn’t the fact he was dead.

“You’re also pregnant.”

Vivian’s eyes widened, “How did you? I haven’t even told Ben or Violet yet…I’ve only just found out today…”

“I can just tell. It’s like Constance. You have to protect yourself and your baby. I will get Violet, I’ll make sure you don’t lose your other baby, but it won’t help Violet if she loses her mother or her new sibling.”

Finally, the grown woman nodded. She nodded her head frantically.

“Just be careful. Please. Sam. I know you’re trying to help, but don’t get yourself hurt.”

Sam smiled, “Don’t worry Vivian. Everything will be fine.”

~#~#~#~

Covering his mouth, Sam stared down into the darkness of the basement. His stomach dropped, and the feeling of sickness began to roll up his throat. He could hear the screaming, cries, the begging!

Why?

“You didn’t…”

“I had too.”

Sam whipped around, facing the blonde, “Why? Why did you have too?”

“They were going to hurt Violet.”

Chest launching. Sam backed away, his hands clenching at his sides, “And? You never cared about that before. You never cared if somebody was hurt, or was being murdered. Remember? You watched me get ripped apart and did nothing!”

“That was different!” Tate cried, coming closer to Sam, “I was different back then! You know I was, you changed me!”

It had gone quiet. The basement was eerily silent. Oh god. Infantata had killed them, hadn’t it? What had it done? Had it ripped them apart, pulled limb from limb?

“They’re dead.”

“Sammy,” Tate tried again, “Sammy, baby-“

Sam glared, “You clearly care more about Violet then me-“

“No!”

Tate shook his head, “No, no, no, you’re my one. My only one. You’re all I have, it’s always been you.”

“It doesn’t feel like it!” Sam snapped, “Tate! Why doesn’t it feel like it? Why does it never feel like that? You say you love me, but do you really?”

Wrapping his hands around Sam’s shoulders, Tate pulled him closer, “It’s not true. Sammy, baby, I love you. I love only you. It had always been you, from the very beginning and it will never be anybody.”

“Tate-“

Tate kissed him. He presses his mouth against Sam’s, their lips sliding together. Sam immediately melted, it was every he had craved and so much more. When Tate pulled back, Sam automatically followed after, hands cupping Tate’s cheeks and pulling him back into a kiss.

Stumbling back, Sam was shoved into the wall and lifted. He wrapped his legs around Tate’s hips, his arms wrapping around his head and running his fingers through the blonde curls.

Oh.

This is something he wanted. He needed. What he dreamt about…but…

“If you loved me…” Sam panted quietly, their forehead’s resting together, “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

Sam vanished once again. 

He couldn’t stop crying. Sam hated himself, his eyes kept watering. He hissed at himself, whipping his eyes furiously. He felt disgusting, gross. He was crying over somebody who doesn’t love him, and was just lying to him…always lying to his face.

Why…why does he have to love him so much?

If this was what it was like to be in love…Sam hated ever meeting Tate. He hated him, but loved him so much. Tate clearly didn’t love him if he was that willing to move on. No wonder Violet was so attracted to death. With somebody like Tate there, willing to hold her hand…

Sam grimaced at the thought. He hated how jealous he was. So what if Tate’s moved on, Sam should be able to move on too! But who would want him? Sam was smothered in scars, and it was ugly. It was disgusting, revolting, who would want to touch that?

Curling tightly in closet, Sam hugged himself. He had never felt so lonely before.

“Hey?”

With a groan, Sam raised his head. He tried to blink the tears away, rubbing them with his hands and hoping it didn’t look like he had just been sobbing his heart out.

“A-Are you alright?” Violet asked, “Um, were you crying?”

Sam swallowed, “No,” he said bitterly, “No. I’m fine. Why are you here?”

Violet blushed, and fidgeted with her fingers, “Er, I thought you wouldn’t mind. I know you don’t really like me, and all that, but you know, after what you did for my mum and everything…”

“Spit it out already, Violet.”

“You know Tate, right?”

Sam awkwardly stared at her. His chest ached at the mention of the boy he loved so much.

“Um, what about Tate?” he suspiciously asked, a sinking feeling beginning to fill him, “Why are you asking? You know I’m dead and-“

“I know he’s dead too.”

Sam just stared. If Violet knew, then she must know what he did. Being a school shooter, and murdering people. She must know what he did to the lose people the other night. He had them killed.

“But I don’t care about that,” Violet said with a shrug, “I want to ask about him. I mean. What’s his type? Er, do you think he’d want to go out with me? Um…it’s Halloween and, well…”

Was she serious?

Violet was coming to him for advise on how to ask out his Ex-boyfriend. Sam couldn’t help frown, his insides jolted with jealousy and anger because Sam has no doubt Tate will go on a date with her.

“I don’t know,” he said darkly, turning away from her, “Why are you even asking me for? Just go ask him.”

Violet blinked at him, “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing. Leave me alone. I don’t like you at all.”

“I was only trying to be nice!”

Sam scuffed, “And how exactly? By flaunting your beating heart in front me? By tangoing with Death? You have everything! I don’t want to look at you any longer. Just go away.”

Violet’s face twisted with anger, “Fine!”

Jerking, Sam rolled onto his side. He ignored as Violet slammed the closet door and just hugged himself tightly. Tears began to stream down his cheeks, and he let out a sob.

Stupid Violet. Stupid Tate.

Sam hoped they would be very happy together.

~#~#~#~

It was Halloween, and Sam was alone. Not even Beau came out to play with him. He was very alone, all by himself. Even Moira had gone out to see her mother. Sam wished he had a reason to leave the house.

He wondered if he remembered his own mother, could he go see her? Where would she be? Would she even be happy to see him?

Sam sniffled. He wished he remembered her…

_‘I love you so much, my little sunshine.’_

He sighed. Occasionally he would remember her voice, remember her saying little things to him. When he truly needed her, he remembered things she did – the little things. Only a small flash here and there.

The house was empty. All Harmons were out, he guessed. Violet on her little date with his Ex-boyfriend. Ouch. It hurt to think about. Vivian hadn’t wanted to stay in the house on her own, and went out. Sam didn’t know what. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to their conversations and just retried to his closet.

Apparently Ben would be back tomorrow. Sam scuffed, why did Ben go to Boston anyway? Didn’t they move away from Boston due to him having an affair? Ah. That may be it. His little side piece is probably pregnant.

Poor Vivian.

Crawling up the door, Sam reached for the handle. He really didn’t find a new place to hide, especially now that Violet could easily find him. How annoying. Sam really disliked her now. Now might be the best time to find a new place. Another closet, or maybe a small cupboard, somewhere he could just sleep in peace.

If Violet really liked Tate, she could easily let it slip without realizing. Sam didn’t want Tate to find out his hiding place.

“Hmm. Where should I pick my new home?”

Sam wondered if he could return to his room now? With Violet owning Tate’s old bedroom, Sam wondered if Tate still hanged out in his room – hoping Sam would return to it. Sam shook his head, he shouldn’t chance it.

No, he couldn’t handle it if Tate was there…thought, he probably isn’t. He’s on a date with Violet.

Trailing along the hallway, Sam sang to himself.

“And then I say the name again with an F very plain and a

Fee fy and a mo

And then I say the name again with an M this time

And there isn't any name that I can't rhyme,”

Checking the closets, and cupboard in wonder, Sam was trying really hard to distract himself. Every door he opened, revealed a messy array of things that Sam didn’t want to sleep. As he came to the basement door, Sam stopped to stare down into the darkness, wondering if Infantata was lurking down there. Could Infantata move around the manor? Like other Ghosts? Or was it trapped in the basement?

Did Infantata see him, that night? With-with the rubber-man?

“Go away. Go away,” he whispered to himself, clenching his eyes shut and willing the images to go away, “Leave me alone.”

“Mommy?”

Sam gasped. His eyes widened as he saw two red glowing eyes in the darkness. He took a step back, his stomach twisting.

“Go away Infantata! Go away!”

Arm wrapped around him, and he was guided backward. Sam jerked, tilting his head back to look up at the woman behind him.

“Go away Infantata!”

Looking back into the darkness, Sam saw the eyes were gone. He gulped, and pulled himself free from the woman, crawling away in a hurry.

“W-Who?”

The woman stared at him with a gentle smile. Sam recognized her from the basement, she was talking with Tate, wasn’t she?

“Hello Sam,” she said softly, “If Infantata ever scares you, you just have to scream ‘Go away Infantata’ and he will.”

Sam bites his bottom lip, “I…okay, thank you…?”

Nora nodded. She stood up right, and brushed down her long golden dress. She sighed wistfully, “It’s almost time. My new one will be here soon.”

“You’re new one?”

“That’s right…” Nora said, “I’m looking forward to it. That boy will never let me down. Never.”

That boy? Wait, was she talking about Tate? Why was she talking about Tate? Before he could even ask, she disappeared, leaving him alone in the corridor. He frowned, a mouthful of questions but it was too late.

Sam breathed in shakingly, running a stressful hand through his hair. He forcefully walked away, dragging his legs a little. He blinked his eyes furiously, and raised his head just as the lights suddenly shut off. Darkness coated him, hugging him from all sides. Sam’s insides trembled in worry.

What was happening?

Had the electric gone? The power shut off? If Sam wasn’t dead already, he would certainly not be able to see in the dark. He would be blind. Very blind. But Sam was, in fact, dead and he could see somewhat clearly.

A figure was at the end of the corridor.

Sam squirmed. Who was that? He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the person and after a few tensed minute, he did.

Sam backed away, “N-No, not again.”

The familiar man in the latex suit approached slowly, its body moving in the familiar inhuman-way. Every step to make, his insides flipping and he backed up more and more until his back was pressed against the wall.

“W-What do you want now?”

The rubber-man came to stand in front of him. He raised a single hand, trailing one finger up Sam’s cheek. Sam whimpered, and tried to move away from the hand, but was unable too. He was already up against the wall.

He should be terrified, but he wasn’t. Why wasn’t he scared? Why did he feel…excited?

No! He should be so-so excited! That’s wrong!

Sam turned his head, clenching his eyes shut tightly.

What is fucking wrong with him?

“Don’t touch me!”

The rubber-man turned his head, as if he was observing Sam. Inspecting his form, and cupped Sam’s cheek, brushing his skin delicately. Sam shivered, want beginning to swell within him, beginning in his gut and growing further.

Latex-covered hand ran down his body, fingers trailing along his chest and lightly touching where his nipples would be underneath his sweater. He pressed down, Sam tried to bite back the moan but it escapes his lips anyway. The hand snapped down to his stomach, shoving underneath his sweater and stilling on his skin. The eyes staring at him, seeing every little flinch or twitch Sam made. Clearly noticing how Sam was trying to fight the pleasure.

Trailing further up Sam’s body, sliding underneath the sweater. Cool-fingers touching Sam’s nipples finally, rubbing it between his fingertips. Sam covered his mouth, turning his head away from the rubber-man’s eyes.

It was to much. Too overwhelming. 

“D-Don’t…” Sam breathily said.

Ignoring the plea, mainly due to the fact Sam was trying to hide his enjoyment, the man’s other hand joined it’s twin. Sam’s body jolted against the wall, gasping against his hand at the feeling of his nipples being rubbed, pinched and twisted, teasingly. His eyes were beginning water again, his hips jerking back and forth from the specks of pleasure.

“N-No, I don’t…stop it.”

Sam tried to wiggle away from the man again, but failed. With a quick, sharp roll of his hips, Sam was pinned back against the wall. The sensation of pleasure ran up his spine, making him dizzy.

No, this isn’t what he wants. No, it was, but it also wasn’t. Sam didn’t want just anybody to touch him, not like that at least.

No he wanted…

…but he couldn’t. He couldn’t have him, have Tate. Tate was out on a date with…with another person.

A girl this time. Did it matter?

Did it matter if he enjoyed this? If he had sex with another person? Sam bet Tate would do it with…Sam grimaced, not wanting to think about that.

Fingers edged Sam’s face back up. The rubber-man staring at him with a strange look in his pretty eyes. The finger running down his cheek, to his lips where he lightly parted them.

“Y-You want…to kiss me?”

Blinking, seeming to be caught of guard, the rubber-man straightened himself. Their hips still pressed flush together, Sam could feel how hard the man was. Feeling it was beginning to make him hard himself.

“H-How can we kiss, when-when you’re wearing a mask…”

What would that feel like? To kiss somebody else? Sam gulped, his lips twitching – trembling as he pressed them together.

The latex-suited man blinked slowly once again. His eyes glanced to the side, seeming to truly be debating it.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Immediately, the man’s eyes returned. He seemed surprised. Sucking in his bravery, Sam raised his fingers to the man’s head. However as soon as his fingers touched the rubbery-mask, the man jerked his head back.

“W-Wait!” Sam said hurriedly, “I won’t remove the mask, I mean – um, I’ll just…”

His words seemed to relax the man and Sam was able to touch the man’s head. His hands slowly ran along the latex-mask, across the man’s cheeks and down his neck. Sam dug his nails until he found the end of the mask. Rolling it up the soft, pale flesh until he settled it over the nose. Sam’s fingers trailing along the skin, down to the man’s chin.

The man finally smacked his hands away, and slapped their mouths together. Their lips pressing together, and tongues immediately wrapping together. Sam groaned into the man’s mouth, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

It was amazing.

Kissing another person was simply…liberating. Sam whimpered, the hands holding his face tightly, and enjoyed the feeling of the plunging tongue in his mouth. But as quickly as it began, it ended.

The man shot back, licking at Sam’s lips and soon running down to his neck. Sam trembled, it felt really good. The rubber-mans hands reaching down to Sam’s jeans, yanking at the jeans until the buttons popped off, falling down Sam’s pale legs. His grabby hands moving to Sam’s hips, reaching between his legs to rub Sam’s hardening cock.

Sam’s hips automatically arched forward, rolling into the hand. Fingers rubbing intensively against his cock, making Sam’s eyes see stars. Finally, a moan escaped his lips that made the rubber-man stop. Pausing immediately, staring doe-eyed at Sam.

It took Sam a moment to realize it was the first time he truly moaned in front of the man.

It took only a moment for the rubber-man to snap out of his daze. In one swoop, he yanked off Sam’s boxers. Once again, Sam’s skin prickled as the cold air touched him. Heat gathered even further in between his legs, already becoming harder then before and wet.

Gasping, Sam’s back arched and the hand cupped him firmly. Cool-fingers rubbed him bare, playing with his balls to the point of Sam seeing golden stars.

“More,” he whispered quietly, “Inside now, p-please…”

The latex-covered man grabbed his thigh, and yanked it up around his hip. His hands rubbing the thigh and grinding his hard cock against Sam’s. It was rock hard, and fucking hot, as Sam remembered.

Reaching down, Sam nervously pulled the zip down and watched as the large cock flopped out. Bright red, and dripping precum. Sam inhaled sharply, whimpering loudly as the rubber-man lined the cock up with his hole.

Eyes rolling back into his skull, Sam sighed as the man pushed into him. The feeling of having the hard cock inside him was just want he wanted, craving. He clenched down on it, feeling pure lava bubbling through him. His hips rolling back against the rubber-covered hips.

“Yes,” he whispered, almost shyly, “Y-Yes, that’s…”

It felt great.

The man thrusted forward. One hand holding his thigh, while the other hand held Sam’s hips. The rubber-man rolled back and forward, slamming his large cock into Sam’s body. Sending wet, hot licks along Sam’s body.

It was so good.

Sam blindly yanked the man closer, claiming his mouth again. Their tongues fighting for dominance. The sound of skin smacking on skin, the loud sounds echoing through the air. Sam twisted, his toe stiffening up and trying to balance himself on the tip of toes. The brutal thrusts of the rubber-man was mouth-watering and finally, Sam pushed up with his other foot, wrapping both legs around the man’s hips.

The rubber-man pulled Sam further up his body, pushing Sam against the wall. His mouth suckling along Sam’s throat, sucking harshly until it truly hurt, but it was perfect. It was so wet, and exploded tingling bombs inside him.

“Harder.”

Sam’s arms slid around the man’s neck, bringing him even closer. He moaned deeply, cum beginning to pearl at the tip of his cock. The friction between the two increased with every thrust, his toes trembling and fingers digging into the rubber.

He couldn’t help but bite at the suit. Tears beginning to swell in the corner of his eyes, tightness grow harsher and harsher in his gut. The familiar, and very missed slickness began to form inside.

Lights, and stars danced across his eyelids. Heat beginning to bubble, and spill over his insides.

Everything exploded.

~#~#~#~

Fluttering his eyelids open, looking but not seeing, Sam eased himself up. His body ached, but in a good way. He felt good. Satisfied. As if so much stress and frustration had been lifted from his shoulders. Sam felt well rested, wide eyed and bush-tail, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

How very strange it was.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, and finally looked around the room. It took him a second to realize what room he was in, and when he did, his eyes watered.

It was his room.

His bedroom.

Sam hadn’t stepped into the room two years. He never realized how much he missed his own bedroom until now. It was just as he left it, everything still the same way, the papers, the books, even the few sweaters he had collected from around the house. Everything was just…perfect.

It was perfectly clean as well. Not a speck of dirt was visible. Had Moira kept cleaning it?

With a sigh, Sam flopped back down on his bed. He pulled at the quilts, wrapping it around him. Oh. It was so soft, so comfortable. Sam had missed his bed. For the past two years he had slept on the floor of the closet, without any blankets or anything. Sam had missed his bed, being able to curl up in the quilts and fall sleep.

Ghosts don’t need to sleep. But they sleep if they want to speed up time. Sam was one of those spirits. He liked sleeping in life (probably?) and had brought it to his afterlife. Sleeping was everything for him.

As his head lured against his plush pillows, not really wondering how he ended up here, Sam was on the edge of falling back into darkness when yelling forced him back up again. Yellowing and screaming from downstairs.

Now what was happening?

Sighing, Sam debated just staying there. He was dead after all. The baggage of the living was not his business, but a voice in the back of his head won. He was a good person after all and rolled off the edge of the bed.

The yelling was coming from the kitchen.

“Where’s my mom? What did you do with them?”

“Of course not. They’re probably at the grocery store, buying some frozen fare to reheat for your supper tonight. You don’t look very good dear. Rough night?”

Violet scuffed.

Sam edged into the doorway. He blinked between the two woman in confusion. What in the world was going on?

“Oh! Sammy, it’s been a long time!” Constance smirked, gesturing for him to come in, “I was just talking to young Violet here, about my son.”

“What about Tate?”

Violet whipped around, “He stood me up! After agreeing to going out with me, yesterday!”

“You know he’s quite dead, yes dear?” Constance questioned.

“Of course I know!” Violet hissed, “Get out of my house!”

“I questioned my sanity when I first found out,” Constance sighed wistfully, “But this house, it will make you a believer. You see, we were living here when Tate lost his way. I believe the house drove him to it.”

Sam’s throat became dry. The way Constance spoke, it was as if she was speaking to him and not the girl in the room. He awkwardly looked away. It made sense. A lot of sense. This house had so much pain, and darkness. Tate had always been a little strange, thought.

Violet sighed deeply, “I want to say I don’t believe you, but I do. This stupid house feels so weird, and there’s so many dead people here.”

“It’s not an amazing thing,” Sam quickly interrupted, staring dryly at Violet, “Don’t act like you wasn’t looking for this when you came to the house. I remember how excited you was when you realized I was dead.”

The girl frowned, withdrawing from with an offended look on her face, “I don’t know what-“

“Violet!”

Sam couldn’t help it. He was just angry with her. She had everything he wanted! Violet was live, she could come and go from this damn house. She could feel the sun on her face, smell the roses, spend time with people she loved. Violet was trapped, wasn’t slowly going mad.

Her pain would never be on the same level of his.

“Stop it! Just stop trying to glorify it!” Sam growled, “Stop thinking being everything would be better if you take your life, because it won’t be. It will be ten times worse.”

Violet glared, “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I have to go through-“

“I don’t fucking care! I’m dead! I was murdered, had my life taken from me! You, you’re still alive! You get to live the life you want, you get to go outside in the sun, you get to live with your family! You won’t be alone! You’ll never be alone, because you have everything! Don’t you dare throw it away because you feel sad! Talk to your damn family, go get some help and be glad you still have more than some people!”

Violet’s face darkened. Her eyes blazing with anger. She hissed, clenching her teeth together, looking like she was about to start screaming but last second, she spun around and stormed out the room.

Sam growled, “Idiot girl!”

“You’ve done all you can,” Constance suddenly said quietly, “There’s nothing else you can do. You’ve done all you can to save her from this house, the rest in her hands. Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

Spinning back to the woman, Sam frowned, “What do you really want Constance? You wouldn’t come here without reason.”

The woman smiled widely, “Such a sharp mind, Sam. Very sharp indeed. One of the reasons why I like you, Samuel.”

“Cut the bullshit, Constance.”

“Woo, you’ve grown a backbone, haven’t you? Ah, I remember when you were so sweet, kind and shy. What happened?”

Sam snorted, “You know what happened. What do you want?”

“Come with me. I have somebody who wants to talk with you.”

“You know I can’t leave the manor, right?”

“No, you can’t leave the house grounds. We can go to the garden.”

Opening his mouth, as if to protest, but changed his mind last minute. Sam blinked wide eye, and awkwardly followed the woman. Sam hadn’t stepped outside the manor in two years. Margaret and Angela had tried to lure him outside to the rose bushes, to play hide and seek many times, but Sam just couldn’t. He didn’t want to see the sun, knowing he could never feel it or enjoy the freedom the sun was supposed to bring.

Inhaling sharply, he inched through the back door to the garden. So that’s how Constance always got into the house. They shared a gate. A wooden gate that looks like it was manually put in. She must have done it before the Harmons moved in.

“You…”

Another woman was waiting against the gate. Her large, thick blonde curls framing her round face. Face heavily done up with makeup. Her clothes looked design. Sam recognized that face. He recognized the woman.

“Hello Samuel,” the woman smiled, “It’s been sometime, hasn’t it.”

Sam sheepishly waved, “Um, hello…er, sorry about, about the last time we met.”

“Oh, no worries. I understand how overwhelming it is,” she said causally, “Being a spirit, and not knowing you are dead, is quite a thing.”

“Billie has been helping me for years. I first found her on Craigslist. I’ve been through all the phonies, but she is one-hundred percent authentic.”

“I’ve just came from a meeting at Lifetime. They’re interested in making a pilot with me.”

"A Craigslist psychic with a Hollywood agent," Constance grumbled, "Who'd have thought?"

Billie sent her a dry look, “A medium, dear. I can’t read your future. That’s a different gift.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sam looked between the two. How were they friends? They both seemed to dislike one another.

“I never asked for any of this,” he spoke softly, looking down, “I don’t really understand what’s going on. I’m just trying to work through it, the best I can. It’s hard, because I’m…I’m just one person in a house of pain and…”

Billie smiled so gently at him, "I was like you. Until I was 25 when out of the blue, my cleaning lady shows up as I'm brushing my teeth. Except she's got no toilet brush and rubber gloves. She's naked and bloody. Her husband murdered her with an ice pick."

"It's hard to keep good help," Constance added with a shrug.

Sam frowned. He sent the woman a look, “Don’t talk about Moira that way.”

“Moira took him under her wing when he first woke up,” Constance muttered to Billie.

Billie sighed, “Do you think I wanted a bloody Mexican ghost in my bathroom? All I wanted was to improve my tennis game and unseat Charlotte Whitney as president of my book club. I was chosen. And when you're chosen you either get with the program, or you go crazy. Understanding the truth is your only choice."

"What's your version of the truth?" Sam’s voice shook.

He had been lied too, and tricked. It had messed with Sam’s head to much.

"Please, tell me."

Billie pulled her purse to her side, and slid a cigarette out, she offered one to Constance. Sam was really confused on their friendship.

"There are some who have an understandably violent and vengeful reaction to being horribly murdered. They refuse to move on until they exact their pound of flesh. Then there are a very few souls, like yourself, who don't even know they're dead who walk among the living in childlike confusion."

Childlike confusion. That certainly sounded like himself.

“I know,” Sam whispered quietly, “I was murdered in this house…”

Constance hummed, “The house was closed down, after the Rutger boys died. Shut down for closure I guess. But that didn’t stop that man.”

It was insulting. The manor was closed down after a murder, but yet a killer was still able to drag him inside. Sam was still killed inside the house. His life ripped away.

“Tate was in a similar position.”

“W-What?”

Sam stared in surprise. Tate knew he was dead, he confirmed it to Sam.

He had already so what Tate was capable of on the night of the break in, had seen what the blonde could do if he was angered or wanted to keep him safe. Sam felt flooded with emotions he couldn't even begin to place at the moment.

Thinking about Tate always did that.

"That's why I wanted him to see your father. I was hoping your father might help him achieve some clarity about himself - that he could see the truth on his own."

Sam bites his bottom lip, “Tate…he already knows, I don’t understand. Tate’s already dead. Why…”

“Tate’s a special boy,” Constance sighed, turning away and blowing out smoke, “My special boy. He knows he is dead, but he can’t accept what he has done. The crimes he had committed.”

Billie shook her head, “There’s something else in that house. Something dark. It feeds on the bright, drains them of their soul and forces them to commit the unacceptable.”

“Are-Are you saying something forced Tate to do what he did?”

“I don’t know,” Billie said, looking up at the manor, “It’s like a black cloud. Always watching, and observing. Sometimes it makes it difficult to see into the glass of the manor. It’s done a lot to keep its feeding ground open.”

Sam turned to the house. His insides tingling with fear. What was she talking about? What did she mean? What was in the manor?

“Even in death, it still feeds.”

Something was feeding on him, and the other spirits?

Billie slid a hand out to him, touching him. It must be because she’s a medium. It took Sam by surprise, and snapped his head around to her, wide eye and mouth gapping.

“H-How do we make it stop?” Sam asked, “I…we can’t leave the manor. We can’t step of the house’s gardens, only on Halloween night…I want to move on. You said…”

Billie’s face become soft, “Your father is waiting for you. He’s still there, waiting and looking.”

“The man whose name begins with K?”

“Yes.”

So he was his father. Same swallowed, he was waiting for him. He wanted to go to a happier place.

But…that meant leaving everyone. Leaving Tate. Sam felt sick all of a suddenly. He loved the other guy. Loved him a lot, and the thought of never seeing him, it was suffocating. To the point of his eyes tearing.

Tate’s still a murder. He had stood back and watched Sam die.

If what Billie said was true…then the thing in the house had affected Tate, right? But Sam doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if he could accept that unless he saw the prove... 

“How-How do we-we cross over?”

Billie looked sad, “I’m not sure. Normally it’s very simple, but this house. This manor, it’s like a barrier. I can’t break through. I’ve been trying for years, but I can’t get through it. But don’t worry Samuel, I will find a way.”

“There’s something else too…”

Sam looked back at her.

“Since the first moment I met you, and looked into your mirror, I’ve felt something. You have a connection to something else, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to access it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No matter. I’ll keep looking, you don’t need to worry about it. Just be careful in there. I don’t know what it will do if it realizes it’s being noticed. It comes from a place I call the…further.”

Sam’s eyebrows creased, “What does that mean?”

“The further is a world, far beyond our own. It’s all around us. A place without time, like we know it. It’s a dark realm filled with the tortured souls of the dead, and some…most of them, aren’t human anymore.”

“There are entities that are more malevolent, more malicious. They have a more insidious genera, and then, there is this. Like the one who has claimed ownership to the manor. They feed on the living, on the bright souls of the innocent. There are many feeding grounds around the world.”

“The Murder House is one of the most intense feeding grounds I’ve seen.”

~#~#~#~

Staring up at the manor was…sickly.

Sam trembled, his arms wrapping around himself. He hugged himself tightly, inching closer to the door. Billie’s words kept spinning around his head, slamming into his skull over and over again.

Was it true?

Was there a…a, what? A what exactly? A demon, right? That’s what Billie was describing, a demon. The reason for everything, the pain, the suffering, the anger and hatred of the manor. The demon manipulated people, forced them, tricked them into performing damning tasks and horrific crimes, to feed on them. To trap the souls inside the house to continue to eat.

Was that what was happening?

Were they being kept in the house to be feed on?

Billie said it hide from them. Used the house as a oven, in some ways. Sam first thought of Infantata. The creature that ripped people apart, and drank blood of the living. But that didn’t line up with what Billie had said.

…was Infantata just another tool?

Sam whimpered at the confusing thoughts. He sniffled, and rubbed his eyes, he stepped closer to the doorway. Feeling an intense aura in front of him, as if he could generally feel the barrier. Or was it just his overactive imagination? Was Sam just latching onto a reason to explain Tate? To explain Tate’s crimes away?

Ignoring his messy thoughts again, Sam shoved his way into the house. Nothing happened. Nothing was out of place. Maybe it was all just one massive excuse? Maybe Sam was just overthinking it?

Sam ran a hand over his face, becoming stressed all over again. His fingers ran through his brown hair, chewing his bottom lip and stepped forward, beginning to force himself to hum. Trying to calm himself the best he could.

The manor was oddly still. As if it was purposely trying to comfort him.

Shaking his head, Sam walked further into the house. Mindlessly walking, he didn’t know but he just allowed his feet to take him randomly. His eyes fluttering as he sang his lullaby but not as happy, or excited, just soft and quiet.

As he walked, he went past the bathroom. The door was open, and from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure cross the doorway. Sam paused still, and tilted his head in that direction, seeing the figure slid out of view.

A sinking sensation ran through him. No. No. It was it just his imagination. Billie’s words had just spooked him, right? Right? Sam grunted, stepping into the bathroom. He’ll just go check it out and see nothing, right. There will be nothing in the bathroom.

Entering the bathroom, Sam noticed how cold it was. His eyes slowly scanning the bathroom silently. He couldn’t see anybody in the room. As Sam turned around, ready to leave, he noticed a familiar figure.

It wasn’t a ghost. A spirit, or a demon.

No, it was something much worse.

“What are you doing!”

Violet jumped, spinning around. Her long brown hair dancing around her face, with her eyes wide and face ghastly pale.

“What are you doing in here?” she cried, “Haven’t you heard of privacy?”

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Coming from you, that’s rich. You don’t know the meaning of privacy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you have in your hand?”

Violet’s face changed once again. Her face morphing from anger, to a more sheepish face. She straightened her slouched body, crossing her arms behind herself with a shrug.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, “I, what? Look, if you’re trying to hide, um, lady products – er –“

“What!” Violet flushed, “No! Of course not!”

“Right. I’ll just, um go then…”

Violet nodded eagerly.

Just as Sam was about to leave, he noticed just what Violet was trying to hide. A large white bottle, and when her hand moved, he heard the contains inside raddle. Sam was going to walk away before he stopped, Billie’s words returning inside his house. He stared blankly ahead of himself, before turning about around.

It took the girl by surprise as he snatched the bottle of pills out of her hand.

“What are you doing!” she shrieked, “Give those back!”

Sam easily moved out of her reach, “No. Tell me, what were you going to do with these?”

“They’re just sleeping pills. I need them to sleep.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you!” Violet bellowed, “You don’t get to dictate my life! You don’t know me!”

Sam just stared at her, clenching the bottle, “I’m not stupid. I might be dead, but I’m not stupid. You were going to use these to kill yourself.”

“No I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were.”

Violet glared heatedly. Her eyes blazing with acid fire. She clenched her hands and suddenly launched forward, trying to get ahold of the bottle but Sam simple disappeared before she could.

He heard her shriek above him.

Sam sighed. He looked down at the bottle of pills with a frown. If Violet really wanted to kill herself, she would. Despite him taking the pills or not. What should he do? Sam doesn’t want Violet trapped in here, having to go through so much pain and suffering if she does it.

“Oh, Sam. Hello.”

Eyes widening, Sam turned around in time to see Vivian coming through the front door. She was carrying a brown bag.

“Are you looking for Moira? I think she’s in the kitchen.”

Sam stared. Vivian was Violet’s mother. His eyes lowered to look at the bottle in his hand, and then back to Vivian.

“I caught Violet with theses.”

Vivian blinked. Her head raising immediately, turning to Sam. Her eyebrows creasing in confusion, and holding a hand out for the pills.

“I think…”

“I know, Sam,” Vivian nodded, “Violet’s had been struggling with depression for a while now…we hoped moving here would help.”

Sam gulped, “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. I know you were only trying to help.”

“She’s been trying to kill herself for a while now, Vivian. I-I’ve been trying hard to stop her, but today…I caught her with the pills. I think she wanted to overdose on them, but also, I know she’s been cutting herself and, um…”

Vivian smiled sadly.

“Thank you for looking out for her.”

~#~#~#~

“I did the right thing, right?”

Moira gently pats him on the shoulder, “You did. You saved her from the Murder House.”

Sam frowned deeply. He turned his eyes from the window, where Violet was being forced into the car by Vivian. The teenager was screaming, and crying, but the woman wasn’t having any of it. Sam didn’t know where Vivian was taking her, but he couldn’t help feeling bad.

Violet definitely hated him now.

“She could have died,” Sam muttered, “If she took the whole bottle of pills. She would overdosed.”

“You did the right thing, Samuel.”

Did he?

Sam sighed depressingly. He turned away from the room, and dragged himself down the hallway, towards his bedroom. Had he finally saved Violet from joining everyone else in hell? Sam snorted at the thought. Where ever Vivian had taken Violet, Sam hoped it would help the girl. When will Ben be back? Sam wondered, the man should be back soon, right?

“Um, excuse me sir,” a sudden voice called of from nowhere, “I don’t want to bother you, but I’m hurt and needing some help.”

Turning in the direction of the voice, Sam found two of the people that had broken in that night last month. The brown haired woman stood, staring with red-rimmed eyes and her throat slashed open with a puddle of blood pooling around her feet. Her interns were hanging out from the flesh, and her brown hair was mattered with blood. The man was next to her, his head all scratched up, but more noticeable was the fact the back of his head was bashed in.

“We seem to be bleeding uncontrollably.”

‘There are some who have an understandably violent and vengeful reaction to being horribly murdered. They refuse to move on until they exact their pound of flesh. Then there are a very few souls, like yourself, who don't even know they're dead who walk among the living in childlike confusion.’

Oh.

Sam inhaled sharply. He had the mind to just walk off, leaving them there in their childlike confusion. After what they did, or tried to do. They didn’t deserve his compassion. But Sam wasn’t that type of person.

“You’re dead.”

The girl squinted her eyes in confusion, “No, we-“

“Dead.”

“We can’t be dead,” the man said.

Sam gestured to the throat and head, “You were killed the night you broke in. But…the evil of this house.”

“…What…”

He stared, watching as their faces morphed. Changing as the information slowly sinked in. Sam sighed deeply, and turned away, he began to continue to walk. Leaving the two as they began to talk among themselves, brokenly, sadly. Sam didn’t care, he had done his part. Now he just wanted a place to hide.

Somewhere he could go and cry. He was tired. So tried, and exhausted, everything was closing in on him on all sides. It was to much. To overwhelming. Sam didn’t know what he wanted, but he dragged himself along. Walking in a familiar direction to a room, a room that held beautiful memoires long since forgotten.

Pushing the door open to his bedroom, Sam shuffled in. He looked up and stopped.

“Sammy?”

Pressure built higher and higher inside him. It run along his spine and up to his head, hugging him. The vision of Tate blurred, his face scrunching up with heat that messed with his ears. Everything suddenly sounded like it was under water, and finally, the dam broke.

Sam burst into loud, messy and gross sobs.

Tate launched forward, his arms stretching out to enclose him. Crushing Sam’s body into his, his face pushing into Tate’s chest.

Sam cried, and cried. Everything he had bottled up came rushing out. The problems he had with Tate, his emotions, the love he hated but couldn’t give up, Violet and her depression, the house being an evil feeding ground and most of, Sam being trapped here! Never being able to relax, like a wooden puppet on strings.

He sobbed his heart out. He clung to Tate, fingers digging into the sweater, tugging on it as he cried. Tate’s large, warm hands wrapped him. One hand rubbed his back, while the other tangled in his hair, caressing his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What can I do to make it better?”

“Just hold me.”

“It’s okay,” Tate whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I won’t leave you ever again.”

~#~#~#~

"I like birds."

Sam sniffled. His eyes hurt, a lot. They burned every time he blinked. He tilted his head, peeking up at Tate.

"And why do you like them?" he asked quietly.

Tate made a soft sound. The pair was laying on their backs, on top of Sam’s bed. His arms was holding Sam to his side. His red-rimmed eyes staring up at the ceiling, as if he had been crying too – which seems likely.

"…Cause they can fly away when things get too crazy, I guess."

Sam snuggled closer. His face laying on top of Tate’s shoulder, his hand rested on top of Tate’s chest. His fingers slowly slid into a small grip.

“I wish I could fly away…”

Tate squeezed him, “I’m sorry. I wish I could make it all better.”

“It’s alright…I think I need to accept what I have.”

“…and what’s that?”

Sam swallowed, “I love you…I think I’ll never be able to not love you.”

Eyes widening hopefully, Tate turned his head fully. He tilted his head down to look at Sam, “R-Really? You really do love me? Still, after…”

“Yes.”

Sam hiccupped, “I love you so much, Tate.”

“I love you too,” Tate said helplessly, “You’re…all I have. I…I love you more than anything.”

Smiling sweetly, Sam reached up to cup Tate’s cheek. The blonde immediately leaned into the touch, his hand coming up cup Sam’s.

“But Tate,” Sam began, “Listen to me. If…if we do this again. If we try again, you have to promise me something.”

Tate sits up. His eyes wide and just beautiful, “Anything! I’ll promise you anything!”

“You can’t keep hurting people.”

“But-“

Sam shook his head, and gently laid a finger against Tate’s lips, “No. No buts, just listen okay. Hurting the living, dragging them into the house and killing them…it’s not right. It’s not okay. It can never be okay. While we can’t change the past, we can only make our future.”

“Tate, promise me you’ll stay with me for now on. You’ll never leave.”

Tate nodded in determination, “I will. I promise. I’ll be good, for now on. I-I’ll never do anything to hurt you ever again. I wish so badly that I could go back and save you but-“

“It’s okay,” Sam smiled meekly, cupping Tate’s cheeks, “Listen to me, that’s the past. We’re no longer thinking of the past. We’re thinking of the future, and I want to be with you, because I love you. I love you more then anything. For now on, we’ll make our own future, without bloodshed or pain.”

Tate hiccupped. He nodded his head furiously.

“Yes. Yes. I want that, more than anything.”

Sam smiled sweetly. He inched closer to Tate, and finally, pressed their lips together. Gently kissing carefully.

“I think I'm sad."

"Me too," Tate mumbled quietly with dejected eyes.

Sam sighed in content. He really missed Tate, missed touching him and kissing him. It was just so…everything. He shuffled closer, pushing himself into Tate’s lap and wrapped his arms around Tate’s shoulders. They mouths sealing together, tongues wrapping together shyly.

“Let’s work together to be happier.”

“For you, anything.”

Sam laughed, “You always know how to make me tingle.”

The smile on Tate’s face was just so gut-clenching. Sam hugged him tightly, their foreheads resting together – noses brushing. They kept kissing gentle, small butterfly kisses.

“I’m tired…” Tate mumbled in a quiet voice.

Sam ran his thumbs along Tate’s cheeks, “Me too. Let’s not fight it anymore, let’s just…be together.”

“Let’s just try to be happy.”

~#~#~#~

Ben Harmon returned the following week, and the house erupted with yelling.

Vivian and Ben argued heatedly over many things but the main thing was Violet. Sam didn’t know where Vivian had taken her, but apparently she wasn’t allowed to come back to the house any time soon. He felt guilty. He had done that to her, was she at a hospital or something like rehab? Either way, Sam had to keep telling himself she was in a safer place. Safer then being in the house day in and out, on the verge of killing herself.

Hopefully Violet is getting the help she needs.

“What was your relationship with Violet?”

Tate blinked, he was tracing Sam’s fingers with his own. At the boy’s words, Tate turned to him.

“Why?”

Sam shrugged, “Wasn’t you supposed to…go out with her on Halloween?”

“Oh,” Tate made a face, “I was lonely, she was lonely, we talked. She gave me bad advice.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sam smiled in amusement, “Bad advice? On what?”

“You.”

“What?”

Tate hummed. He rolled over to face Sam, pulling him closer until their faces were pushed together again. Sam sighed into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

“I mean, I never told her it was you…” Tate said, pulling back a little, “She asked me why I was seeing her dad. I told her I wanted to make myself better for somebody I love…I said you hated me, and she tried to give me advice…advice that didn’t help.”

Sam blinked again. He smiled, pecking Tate on the lips again.

“But what about you, er, date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Tate said sternly, “It would never be a date. It’s only you. It has always been you. She asked if I wanted to go out with her on Halloween, I said sure cause I didn’t to clear my head but I changed my mind. I couldn’t leave, I didn’t want too, not without you at my side…”

Blushing, Sam ducked his head, “Oh.”

“You were jealous, huh?”

“No!” Sam frowned, “Okay, maybe a little…”

Tate chuckled, “There was no need to be.”

“Yeah, well…she liked you, but I loved you, and she talked to me about, while you guys kept hanging out and-“

Tate cut Sam off with his mouth. Sam whined, and kissed back immediately, just as heated as he could. His fingers running through Tate’s blonde curls.

“Do-you-remember-what-you-said-before?”

“-I-remember-a-lot-of-things-“

Sam laughed again. He pulled back, licking at his sore lips with a shy smile.

“I mean, remember our talk about…moving on?”

Tate prompted himself up onto his hand, “What are you talking about?”

“Um, you know about going to a better place-“

“This is the better place,” Tate said simply, “You’re here.”

Sam chewed his bottom lip, “But Tate, what if there was an even better place?”

“An even better place than here?”

“Yeah…”

Tate turned his head away in thought. His eyes staring out the window at the birds again. Sam watched anxiously, worried that he had upset Tate. Finally, after what felt like years, but was really a few minutes, Tate rolled his head back.

His eyes. They were so pretty, glittering.

“If you’re there with me.”

Sam smiled. He smiled so widely and brightly, “Of course! So you would leave, with me, if you could?”

“Yes,” Tate nodded, before his eyebrows creased, “Why are you crying? Did-Did I say something wrong?”

Hiccupping, Sam buried his face into Tate’s throat. He hummed, “Nothing. It’s happy tears.”

“Happy tears, is there such a thing?”

Chuckling, Sam pressed a kiss to Tate’s chin. He sighed, enjoying the feel of Tate holding him. Hugging him. Just his hands on him. It was everything he wanted, craved and needed. Tate pressed a gently kiss to the top of his head, pushing his nose into Sam’s hair.

“I love you, Tate. I really do.”

“I love you too.”

Tate rolled them both up into sitting positions, “I have an idea. Let’s spend the day playing Scrabble. I’ll even let you win.”

“As if,” Sam snorted, “You’ll never let me win, and if you happened too, it won’t feel like I earned it.”

Laughing, Tate cuddled him. He smothers Sam’s face with butterfly kisses again.

“I don’t know, maybe you’ll have luck on your side.”

“Sure. Whatever you say Tate.”

Tate smiled, pressed butterfly kisses along Sam’s neck. The brunette sighed, moaning quietly, and leaning into Tate’s touch.

“Stay with me…” he whispered.

Sam hummed, smiling softly.

Oh, how he had missed Tate.

~#~#~#~

The house was quiet, which was unusual considering how often Ben and Vivian argue. Sam wondered if they had gone out, most likely to visit their daughter…wherever Violet was.

Humming to himself, Sam swayed his arms back and forth. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Just comfortable. Comfortable with his death, with the hellhole this house was, with the other spirits, and with his new, carefully rebuilding relationship with Tate. Sam was plainly ignoring everything that Billie had said, choosing to ignore what this house really is and just enjoying what he was doing there.

His afterlife wasn’t too bad at this moment of time.

“My baby. My baby.”

Sam squinted his eyes at the sudden voice, a feminine voice spoke in a ghastly wistful tone. He paused briefly, staring blankly ahead of himself before following the voice and finding the unfinished nursery the Harmons were building.

Right. Vivian was pregnant, Sam forgot about that.

Stepping into the depressing nursery, Sam’s eyes rolled around the room. He blinked and stared at the figure in the middle.

“What are you doing in here?”

Nora hummed, “I’m savouring.”

“Savouring?” Sam repeated quietly.

The woman in gold swayed side to side. Her fluttering dress swirled back and forth, looking beautiful. Her arms curling in front of herself, her blue eyes staring up at the colourful wall.

“My baby.”

Sam opened his mouth, but his voice died in his throat. What? What did she mean? What baby? Did she mean the Harmon’s baby? No, that couldn’t be right. The baby was Vivian’s, it was growing inside her womb and all.

“I…you have a baby?”

Nora smiled, finally twirling around, “Yes, my baby. My little, beautiful baby. My untouched baby. They’ll be coming soon.”

A sickly sensation began to increase inside him. Sam stared at the woman, slowly beginning to piece the puzzle together. Not all of it, just a few pieces. His mouth became dry, and his eyes creased worriedly.

“Y-You mean…the Harmons baby?”

“No!” Nora snapped, her face darkening with anger, “My baby! My baby! Not there’s! Not hers! Mine! Mine! Mine!”

Stumbling back, Sam straightened him, “Your baby?”

“That’s right. Mine.”

“And how will you…get your baby?”

Nora’s face morphed again. Instead of anger, it became more calm and almost soft. Her eyes twinkled in a deranged, unsettling way. She crossed her arms, pressing her hands to her chest.

“It won’t be long. That…one will go into labour soon, and I will take my baby then.”

That one? She means Vivian.

“Why do you want Vi-er-that baby?”

“Why?” Nora frowned, raising an eyebrow, “Because it’s mine. My baby. It was promised to me, my precious little one. _That man_ had already killed my first baby, this one is my reward, a new baby and not the one _he_ gave me.”

That man? He? Sam had a feeling she was reference somebody else, and not Ben Harmon. Sam gulped, the in her eyes, it was of somebody who had nothing else to lose.

What was she planning?

“Who promised the baby to you? And how are you going to take it, last I learnt about biology is that the dead is unable to raise a child.”

Nora smirked, “Who said my baby will be left alive? I’m it’s mother, and I am dead, therefor, my baby will have to be dead.”

“You’re going to kill Vivian’s baby?”

“No!” Nora hissed like a snake, “No! Not _her_ baby, my baby! _My_ baby!”

Sam shook his head, “Right, right, your baby. Okay, your baby, but who said you could have the baby? Who said it was your baby?”

“He promised me a new baby.”

“ _Who_ promised?”

Nora’s face became blank, her eyes boring into Sam harshly.

“Tate.”

“W-What? Why would he-“

“You know he raped her, right. He’s a monster.”

~#~#~#~

Tate was on his bed when Sam entered. He blinked, staring down at the blonde, his whole body hurt. It hurt in ways he hated. In ways he wished it didn’t. Why does this keep happening? Were they cursed? It had to be, right?

“Sammy?”

Sam cracked out of his thoughts. Was he just not meant to be happy?

Why did Tate keep ruining them?

“Why were you seeing Mister Harmon? Constance thought you needed help?”

Tate blinked in confusion, “Er, I did, I mean, I do.”

“You knew you were dead…” Sam mumbled, “You know who those kids were, the ones that chased us all those years ago. You remembered you were shot in the head. You watched me be ripped apart and decided to sit back, doing nothing.”

Tate winced. His eyes beginning to grow red with tears, with confusion and fear. He climbed from the bed, and stood in front of Sam, reaching for his hands.

“I’ve changed. You know I have. You made me change.”

“So you really remember everything?”

Tate looked down, he bites his bottom lip and nodded, “Yeah. I do. I remember it.”

“So you lied,” Sam said, before laughing, “I don’t know why that surprised me. You killed people. You’ve killed many people, and you do remember doing it! Don’t you?”

“Why?” Tate whispered shakingly, “ _Why_ would I do that? I _remember_ doing it, I remember feeling _nothing_! _Why_? I don’t know why! I don’t _remember why_! _Nothing_ makes sense to me! Sammy, why would I do _that_?”

“I can’t answer that, it’s on you.”

Something trembled in Sam’s chest. Especially as Tate began to truly cry, tears beginning to stream down his rosy cheeks. Sam wanted to ease him, to kiss those tears away. He hated himself so much. He wanted Tate to feel better!

Were they seriously that cursed?

“I mean, why would you shoot those harmless kids? Why would you watch me be tortured and murdered? Why would you kill Chad and Patrick? Why would you _rape_ Vivian?”

Tate froze. His red-rimmed eyes widening so much, blood red and sore-looking. He tried to whip his face with his sleeve of his sweater. Tate squinted at Sam through his long eyelashes. Sam couldn’t begin to explain the way his face changed, before Tate blinked.

“Who told you that?”

Sam bristled, “Nevermind that! I know you did it! You were going to kill the baby too, wasn’t you? And give it to-“

“No!” Tate interrupted harshly, grabbing Sam by his shoulders, “Who said that? It was the plan, but I didn’t! I couldn’t!”

It hurt. It stung. But Sam found himself enjoying the pain. It was like he was being punished for trusting Tate so much. For loving him so much, for wanting to still be with him but knowing he was pure darkness.

“Sammy! Please, you have to believe me!”

“Believe what?” Sam hissed, trying to pull out of Tate’s grip, “I know why you are! I know the tricks you use! I know you love to play mind games! This is just one massive game, isn’t it?”

Tate tightened his grip, “No! No! No! No, before you, there was only pain and darkness, and loneliness. I had nobody, and the only person here, I can’t even – but you came. You came here, and were like this beacon of light that pulled me away from her! You’ve changed me, Sammy!”

“Who?” Sam asked, “Who? Who? Tate, I don’t understand. You either did rape Vivian or you didn’t! The baby she’s carrying-“

“Isn’t mine!”

Sam’s voice drained into his throat. His eyes widened and he stumbled back, falling onto the bed – sitting on the edge. He stared up at Tate, who was panting deeply, trying to calm himself down and failing. He eventually fell to his knees, and wrapped his arms around Sam’s middle, hiding his face into Sam’s lap.

“I broke my promise…I couldn’t do it…” he whimpered, sobbing harshly, “I just…she was the only person before. Before you came. Nobody was there for me, but her, and I – and I wanted to make her happy but I couldn’t…”

Slowly, he lowered his hands. Sam gently touched Tate’s head, running his fingers through Tate’s unkept blonde curls.

“Please Sammy, please believe me…”

Inhaling sharply, Sam rubbed Tate’s back. He didn’t understand what Tate was saying. He tried really hard to make sense of it, but couldn’t. His nose wrinkled, eyes becoming misty with tears.

“Tate…I don’t understand,” he whispered, “You…you’re gonna need to explain it to me…”

Tate sniffled. He sat back, but kept his hands around Sam’s waist. Tears still running down his cheeks, and a little snooty. Sam couldn’t help but try to comfort him. He leant forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to Tate’s forehead.

“Explain yourself. I’m listening.”

Nodding his head slowly. Tate looked down for a few seconds, seeming to figure out his thoughts. Whatever he was holding back seemed to be something difficult for him.

“I d-don’t know how to…”

“Start from the beginning.”

“You…this house, I mean…” Tate paused, frowning. He was becoming frustrated, “Charles Montgomery was known as a surgeon to the stars. He built the manor in 1922, for his wife. I’m not sure what happened back then, but from what I know, or was told…Charles began to lose business…”

“Apparently he turned his attention onto other ways to gain his business back, but eventually developing a gruesome Frankenstein Complex.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised, his skin prickling, “F-Frankenstein Complex?”

“He would stitch the assorted body parts of animals together. He also became addicted to drugs too.”

Becoming white. Sam groaned in disgust, looking away. His eyes glanced down at his skin, seeing the scars across his hands and immediately yanked his sleeves over them.

“You’ve met his wife…”

“I have?”

“Nora. Nora Montgomery.”

Sam gasped, his eyes widening. The woman in gold. She was seriously the first lady of the house. His lips pressed together, and he narrowed his eyes into a heated glare. She was also the person who told him about Tate, and she is also the ghost that desperately wants to steal the Harmon’s child.

What’s Sam going to do with that? He had to warn the family about her. But how? Would the family even believe him?

“She…um, she became angry with Charles inability to support them, and took the matters into her own hands. She came up with a scheme to perform illegal abortions in the basement,” Tate explained quietly, his head lowering once again. His hands reached out, wrapping around Sam’s again.

Illegal abortions? Sam quavered at that thought. Those poor woman. Girls that had no other choice but to look for this deranged man. 

“In time…Nora's plan falls apart because one patient told her boyfriend what happened,” Tate winced, “Pursuing revenge, the girl's boyfriend kidnapped the Montgomery's son, Thaddeus, and dismembered him.”

Gapping, Sam shuddered, “He dismembered the baby?”

“Yeah,” Tate nodded solemnly, “The police brought the baby’s remains in an evidence box.”

Everything inside him swirled in disbelief. The police brought the baby’s remains in a box? He gapped in horror, his face paling further. His eyes watered with the phantom urge of throwing up.

“That’s…that’s barbaric…that poor baby…”

Tate nodded, “I know. I know. I thought about that too, when I first found about it. Um…Charles, having fully lost his sanity, put his skills to the ultimate test: he attempted to sew his son back together.”

“What!”

Flinching Tate looked away, “He wanted…well, I don’t know what he wanted, or what he was thinking. It’s just…just something he did…and-and Nora caught him in the act, and-and Charles was successful but…”

“Infantata…”

“Yes,” Tate hiccupped brokenly, “Yes. He created Infantata, and not Thaddeus. He-he ruined the little baby…that tried to drain Nora of her blood…and distraught by what her son had become, Nora shot Charles in the head and then herself.”

“T-There’s more to what Charles has done…like-like being the couplet of the Black Dahlia, he possessed a dentist that accidently killed her, but um…there’s so much…I can’t…”

Pulling him into a hug, Sam stroked his head, “It’s okay, but Tate. You need to explain-“

“I know,” Tate sniffled, “Nora…she…”

Taking a harsh deep breath, Tate looked Sam in the face, “My mother…wasn’t the best. You know that, that she…she wasn’t the nicest, her punishments definitely walked the rope…and I was so lonely. Growing up, I struggled a lot…and Nora saw that. Nora, she kept…I guess haunting me?”

“At night, she would wake me up and drag me out of bed. We would paly together, and she taught me how to tell with Infantata…she became my mother in all ways, expect she was dead and I was alive…and eventually, she noticed I was growing and-and wanted a new baby…a baby that wouldn’t grow up. That would stay with her forever…”

Sam’s eyes saddened. He already had a feeling he knew where this was going. Tate promised her, didn’t he? He promised he would get Nora a new baby, because he loved Nora. Nora was his mother in all ways but blood.

“I don’t remember,” Tate said helplessly, “It’s a blur. When Nora’s around, it was difficult. I don’t remember what it was alike back then, when I was alive but…I just knew she was there. She was the only one there for me, and-and I wanted…wanted to show her how much I loved her…”

Tate pressed his face back into Sam’s lap, “I promised I would get her a new baby. I promised her…”

“So you raped Vivian?”

“No!” Tate cried, “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t touch her! Honestly Sammy, please, you have to believe me! I couldn’t do it. Once you appeared, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t keep my promise. I didn’t want too.”

“Nora kept pushing and pushing, and pushing! When you hated me, and no longer wanted anything to do with me! I was going to do it for her, but I changed my mind! I couldn’t do it!”

Sam’s face heated up, tears beginning to gather at the corner of his eyes, “How can I believe you?”

“Because I was with you! Both times Nora pushed me too go make the baby! I found you instead!”

Everything stilled around him. Sam whole being seemed to freeze as if the embrace of frost was suddenly upon him. He stared down at Tate, staring into his pleading pretty eyes. His fingers jolted.

What did Tate mean? He was with him? But he knew…

“That was you?”

Tate sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Tate, you were in the…” Sam trailed off with a wince, “Both times? In the basement, and…”

“On Halloween. I’m sorry.”

Sam wasn’t sure how to feel. Tate was the rubber-man? How did that work? Sam didn’t understand. How could Tate have been in the latex suit? That meant they had…Tate had…and Sam had enjoyed it. He had begged him to go harder, faster, and he liked it.

Sam stressfully ran a hand through his hair. He had to put a pin it for now, otherwise…otherwise…Sam didn’t know what he would do.

“Tate, if you didn’t, then who did? How is Vivian pregnant?”

“I don’t know,” Tate sobbed, “I don’t know. I just know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. I never touched her. I didn’t, I couldn’t, not when I had you. I love you. I love you. You’re my everything.”

The blonde sobbed harsher. He curled up into Sam’s lap.

“Please. Please believe me. Please, Sammy.”

It was then that Sam recalled Billie’s words, her warning about the house. The darkness that lurked within. Tears finally began to stream down his cheeks, and Sam could only slouch over, holding the crying boy.

Why was everything so crazy? Why did it always have to go to shit? No matter what he does. No matter how hard he tries. Nothing ever works for them.

“It’s not you…it’s the house. There’s something wrong with this house. It’s messed up, and uses people. Everyone here are just puppets on strings, tools used to create more chaos…”

Sam has to figure out how to stop it. How to save everyone…

~#~#~#~

It was numbing, and confusing, and so many other things.

Sam felt funny. Unsure of what to do, or say, or anything really. After finding out the final dark truth of Tate, he was just…dizzy. Overwhelmed. He had to save Vivian’s baby from Nora, but how?

He does he do that?

Would they even believe him?

_‘Hey! I am generally the famous Sammy that was murdered in this house! It’s a dark, hunting ground for something beyond Human! You should run as far away as possible, before you’re trapped here too! There’s a crazy woman here who wants to steal your baby!’_

…Yeah because that will end well.

Sam wondered how Vivian and Ben would react to that. Would they try to send him to the looney bin? Is that where Violet is?

Stressfully, he ran a hand through his messy brown hair. He shuffled his feet along, squinting his eyes over the staircase railing.

Either way, this has to stop. No more deaths, no more bloodshed, no more pain and suffering.

There has to be _something_ he can do.

Crouching between the two beams of the top staircase rail, Sam pulled his knees close to himself. His eyes squinted, staring down at the main entry-hall, watching the doors open and the Harmons return home. This time, Sam could see Violet with them.

Guilt.

It was the first thing he felt when he saw her. Her long hair was cut to her shoulders, her face pale and eyes sunken. She looked almost dizzy and was being supported by Vivian and Ben. Her arms curled in front of herself.

Sam swallowed thickly. His fingers digging into his cardigan. Wherever she went must have done a number on her.

Closing his watery eyes, Sam disappeared just as Vivian looked up.

Crumbling, Sam tried to smoother his sob but failed. He curled up at the base of the door, arms wrapping around himself, crossing over his head. It was to much, to overwhelming, too crushing.

How was he supposed to save everyone when he couldn’t even save himself?

Sam was drowning. Drowning in his own emotions and feelings. He was finding it difficult to keep his head above the water surface. It’s just too suffocating. Sam just broke underneath the pressure of what is Murder House, tears broke free and streamed down his cheeks like a waterfall. It drips freely from his pointed chin, and he just cried.

At the end of his sobbing fit, Sam just laid there. His head feeling heavy, ears ringing and face feeling disgusting itchy. Snorting, Sam smiled pitifully, if he learnt anything about being a Ghost was that they can cry.

Oh yes.

Spirits can cry alright.

Sighing deeply, Sam rubbed his face with the sleeve of his cardigan. His shoulders trembling, and just feeling exhausted. He wanted to sleep the rest of his afterlife away, wanted to close his eyes and never have to open them again.

It was so unfair that even when dead his nose runs grossly. 

Peeking up through his thin hair, Sam found himself back in his closet. Of course. He’s run back in the closet, the irony wasn’t lost on him. Sighing once again, he crawled to the middle of the room and laid down.

“Sam?”

Shooting up, Sam gasped. His eyes widened, and he crawled backward slightly. The door of the closet edged open and a familiar figure popped her head in. Warm eyes catches him, and a kind smile was directed at him.

Vivian closed the door behind her. She delicately lowered herself to her knees, and sat in front of him.

“Sam, it’s alright…” she eased gently, “I want to talk…”

Sam gulped, sheepishly looking around. What should he say? How did she even know he was here?

Vivian inhaled deeply, straightening herself, “Violet said I could find you in here.”

“O-Oh, um…I can, er explain?”

“I think I understand,” the woman said, “I knew something was off about this house, but it put it aside. I tried to save my family, my marriage, but it’s all falling apart. It’s breaking into shambles so quickly.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You tried to help us,” Vivian smiled. She inched forward, and took Sam’s hand gently, “I know.”

Sam blinked, “I, what?”

“I know you’re dead.”

Immediately everything around him slowed down. The colour flushed away like watery-paint. Sam stared, his eyes beginning to burn with unleashed tears.

“I-I…”

Vivian smiled sadly, and pitifully, “You’ve done nothing but try to help us, haven’t you? You saved Violet, and I can never repay that.”

“You have to leave!”

Blinking once, Vivian gazed at Sam. She gestured for him to continue, squeezing his hands to comfort him – like a true mother.

“You have to leave,” Sam repeated, he swallowed thickly and straightened himself, “T-This house, it’s…it’s alive. It’s craves life, wants to eat every living thing that enters. Um, you need to leave. While there are some peaceful spirits, like-like myself and Moira, there are some more…not nice spirits.”

Vivian breathed in softly to calm herself. She pushed her thick curls of brown off her shoulders, “Define not nice spirits.”

“There are spirits in this house that wishes to harm you, and your family. They will stop at nothing until you are…”

“Are?”

“Like us.”

“You mean dead?” Vivian asked, “What do they want?”

Sam’s eyes dropped. Vivian’s stomach had expanded quite a lot during the past weeks. She most be close to her due date.

“My baby?” she gasped.

“Y-Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying, trying so hard to-to stop her but…”

“Her?”

Looking away, Sam nervously whined, “She’s the first lady of the house. Nora Montgomery, she-she lost her baby. Her baby was murdered before she died, and her husband, Charles Montgomery tried to bring the baby back to life. It…I don’t know really, there’s something here. A really dark and malevolent spirit, the other people here say it’s the Montogomery’s deformed baby…”

“Nora’s been tyring to find a replacement ever since…she thinks she has it through you…”

Vivian was quiet. She leant back, her gentle hands raising to hold her large stomach. Her dark eyes shimmering with fear and concern. Vivian twisted her lips together, biting down on her bottom lip harshly.

“She wants my…baby? But how…”

“I…I think she’s going to-to...”

Sniffling, the woman nodded her head, seeming to already understand what Sam was trying to allure too. She rubbed her fingers across her stomach, while her other hand went to hold the side of her as if she was gaining a painful headache from it all.

“What do I do?”

“You need to leave the house. You need to get yourself and your family out of this house before something bad happens. I don’t want you guys to be trapped here.”

Vivian’s head shot up, “Trapped? You’re trapped here?”

“Um…there’s something about this house. It’s like a cage, if you die on it’s property…you can never leave…”

“Oh my god. Sam, I’m so sorry.”

Sam shook his head slightly, his eyes closing briefly, “It’s alright. I’ve grown used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’re too young, and…my god, you’re _that_ Samuel.”

“Y-Yeah, I am…” Sam shrugged, “I-I was…you know, kidnapped, tortured and soon enough murdered.”

Vivian’s eyes lowered to look at Sam’s hands. Her fingers brushed along the scars in distain, her eyes glittering as if she saw the scars for the first time – which was probably correct. She squeezed his hands with a broken sigh.

“I wish I could do something…”

Sam smiled, “Just live, I guess. Just live.”

Vivian nodded.

~#~#~#~

The house was buzzing. It was a complete 180 to the days before, both the living and the dead seemed to be moving around anxiously. Sam was a little dizzy as he sat at the very top of the staircase, staring down into the main entry hall again.

People were moving back and forth. Some running, and some just walking.

“I see you informed them.”

“I had too.”

“I don’t disagree with you choice.”

Sam smiled meekly, “Moira…did I make the right call?”

“It all depends on how this will play out.”

The old lady stood next to him. Her hands holding onto the top staircase rail, wrinkled fingers brushing the polish wood. Her face was directed down at the hall as well, with an indifferent expression on her wrinkled face.

“I’m sorry…”

Moira blinked in surprise, “Whatever do you have to apolgoize for?”

“If I could, I would set you free,” Sam said softly, “I would set everyone in this house free. It’s not fair we’re all trapped here.”

“Oh, Samuel. You are definitely too sweet for this manor.”

Sam smiled with a soft laugh. Moira even had a tiny smile on her lips too. Sighing dramatically, Sam crossed his arms over the rail and laid his chin on top of them. His eyes became half-lidded, his nose flaring a little.

“Do…do you think this will ever be over?”

Moira made a quiet, weary sound, “Who knows. Maybe someday.”

Maybe someday…Sam frowned, becoming sadden at the thought. He wished he could do something, just anything. He wanted so badly to do something! Anything! Why was he so useless?

“It’s alright, Samuel. I know you want to help, but sometimes, you must just step back and allow everything to fall into place.”

“…I…” Sam sniffled, hiccupping quietly, “Thank you. Thank you so much Moira, you’ve done so much for me.”

Moira smiled, “I like to think it comes around. I know, if I need help you would be the first person to step up.”

Sam beamed.

He would.

Eventually Moira climbed to the steps after Vivian calling for her. Sam stayed at the top, watching with unmoving eyes. The Harmon’s were quick to act. Sam was a little surprised at how quick everything was moving. It would be their final night in the manor tomorrow, and then they will be gone.

Sam hoped they would never come back.

Stressfully, he ran a hand through his unkept brown curls. He inched back from the rail, debating if he should returned to his room or his closet. Just as he was beginning to come to an answer, somebody shyly climbed to the steps to him.

“Sam?”

Whipping his head around, Sam was expecting to find a angry glare but instead found a calm and monotone stare.

Violet looked awful. Sickly even. Her skin almost looked grey.

“Do you know where I was sent too?”

Sam swallowed, not trusting his voice. He just stared at the girl. Watching as she climbed up to stand next to her. She looked as if she had lost her emotions, her face was blank with not even a twinkle in her eye. Her sudden, cut off her hair was thin and looked lifeless.

Guilt. It boiled within his stomach, making his eyes water.

“My mum dragged me to an insane asylum. She signed me in, on suicide watch.”

His lips parted, ready to voice his apology but nothing came out. He had a feeling that’s where she went.

Violet shrugged, “It wasn’t that bad, I guess. I was drugged up most of it, slept when I could but I was forced to go see a therapist. To talk about my feelings and shit, I’m honestly stuffed on bullshit.”

Wincing, Sam glanced at her awkwardly. Her voice quivered slightly, the first inkling of emotion in her voice but as quickly as Sam heard it, it was gone. He should feel incredible guilt, he should be feeling awful, and in ways he does, but at the same time, he didn’t.

Sam did what he had too.

“Fuck you.”

Jerking, Sam looked at her with wide eyes. His thin lips twitching, his nose flaring and hands clenching at his sides. His shoulders hunched, and his eyebrows creased.

“Fuck you Sam. You ruined my life. I won’t forgive you for this. Ever.”

“Violet-“

“I hope you rot here.”

Everything burned. Sam’s eyes swirled, staring as Violet stormed away. She went back down the steps, not even pausing to look back at him. His chest ached with pain, and Sam tried to stop himself, but he let out a tiny whine. He immediately turned around, and fizzled into air.

His mind latched onto the only place that gave him comfort. His body already beginning surf through the waves of nothingness, moving through the manor to the room that had given him the most happiness. Sam stumbled forward, his back hitting his bedroom door as he finally let out a broken sob.

“Sammy? Sammy, baby, what’s wrong?”

Hands lightly touched him. Cupping his tear-striped face, fingers spreading across skin. Sam’s skin prickled with goosebumps. He looked up into soft brown eyes, staring at him with such love, with such longing and more importantly concern.

He supposed that made sense. If the other had been hanging out inside the room, and all of a sudden, Sam appeared in the state he is…

“Tate, am I, a bad person?”

Tate’s eyebrows ran up his forehead, “What? Who said that?”

“I have to be, right?” Sam hiccupped, “For what I did. I mean, I thought I was saving her from this house, but she clearly disagrees and hates me now.”

A maddening glit appeared in Tate’s eyes. He delicately inched Sam closer, wrapping his arms around the smaller male.

“You’re talking about Violet, aren’t you?” he said, “Don’t worry about her. She’s not like us.”

Sam pressed his face into Tate’s chest, “I wanted to save her. She would have killed herself and be trapped here too. I didn’t want her to go through the same suffering we’ve gone through. But she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She does! She said so! She said she hopes I rot here!”

Tate was strangely silent. Had he heard him? Was he seriously not going to say anything after that. Sam sniffled, did…did Tate actually agree with her? Sam didn’t know what he would do if that was the case! He clenched his hands tightly around Tate’s middle, fingers gripping at the green and black stripped sweater.

“I’m sorry! M-Maybe I should have thought it through more and not-not rat her out! But-“

“Sammy,” Tate suddenly interrupted, his voice low and threatening. It sent a chill down Sam’s spine, “You did the right thing. Violet was attracted to the darkness, and if you didn’t step up, I have no doubt in my mind she would have joined us here.”

Tilting his head back, Sam looked nervously up into Tate’s face. His face! Sam shuddered.

“You’re not going to do anything, r-right?”

Tate blinked, “What do you mean?”

“Tate!”

“Sammy, you were trying to help her and she reacted like that. Maybe she needs a lesson.”

“No! No! She’s just, just overwhelmed is all! And-and, besides, it doesn’t matter! The Harmon’s are leaving in two days! W-We won’t have to see her ever again!”

Tate doesn’t reply to that. Instead he turned his head, but Sam grabbed his chin.

“Tate. Promise me.”

“But-“

“Tate.”

The blonde groaned deeply. His hands tightening further around Sam, “Fine. Fine. I won’t, just for you. I promise.”

Sam nodded. He slowly relaxed, truly believing the blonde and was putting a little bit of hope into the other guy because…well a lot of reasons.

“Tate, we have to talk.”

Flinching, Tate finally stepped back. His head lowered like a wounded puppy, his big eyes shimmering as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. His fingers picked at the loose strings of his jumper.

“I…um…”

Sam gulped, “Tate…about what you did…when you wore the latex suit. Um. Why? Why were you even wearing such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Tate shrugged helplessly, “I-I can’t explain it…I can never-never deny Nora. When she asks for something, I have no choice but to – um…”

“It’s alright. I think I understand what you’re trying to say…”

“No.”

Sam nervously straightened himself at the sudden exclamation. His fingers knitted into his cardigan, pulling at it in hopes to shield himself.

He doesn’t understand…

“Sammy, you don’t understand. I…you can’t ever understand. There’s something up with this house, I-I, um…once Nora asked me to do something…I couldn’t – it was like I have no control of myself. There’s this darkness inside me, and it comes out, it comes out and rips my soul apart. I do things. I hurt people, and I can’t feel anything! Something wrong with me!”

“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me, maybe I’m just evil.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he launched forward. His hands shot out to grab onto Tate’s hands, yanking them away from his head – stopping him from trying to rip his hair out. He held them tightly.

“You’re not evil,” Sam stated sternly, “You’re not evil, it’s something else. I know for a fact there’s something in this house, and you’re just one of the thousands unfortunate souls it came across. It used you to cause chaotic, to bring harm.”

Tate’s eyes began to water, redness starting to creepy around them. He sniffed deeply, “No, you’re wrong. It…it had to be me….why would I hurt the person I love? I hurt you. I’ve hurt you to many times, and I just-just can’t seem to stop hurting you.”

“Sammy, I love you. I’ve never felt this before, I’ve always been locked away in darkness, always in the cold. But you came and everything was better, it was warmer and I wasn’t scared anymore, but I can’t stop hurting you. Why? Why can’t I just stop! And be normal!”

Eyes beginning to tear up once again, Sam’s insides hurt. He’s never heard so much in Tate’s voice before. Tate was just too broken, too down, and raw. Sam’s never heard that much emotion in his voice.

He was being sincere. Completely and utterly sincere.

Sam pushed inward, pressing himself against Tate’s front. He stretched himself up onto his tiptoes, and pulled Tate into a gentle kiss. Their lips sealing together perfectly.

Tate pulled back an inch, and spoke in a pure gut-wrenching voice, “Sammy. Please, please, just stop. I should just leave. I should just lock myself away, and rot in the darkness. I’m not worthy of-“

“Shut up.”

“Sammy-“

“No!” Sam hissed, grabbing Tate’s face, “No! Shut up! You shut up now! You want to know how I feel? Everything is crazy! I’m continuously being ripped apart, being yanked in all directions! I’m trying so hard to help everyone! To keep the living safe, to comfort the dead, and it hurts!”

Tate hiccupped, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t-“

Sam burned with anger, “Listen to me! Listen to me! Tate! I’m so goddamn tired of putting everyone in front of myself! I want to be selfish for the first time! I hate you! I hate you so much! You forced me! You ruined me!”

“But I love you. I hate that I love you so much. I hate that I enjoyed what you did to me, that I liked it, and begged for more. But all I know, is being with you is good. That you make it just feel better.”

Tate closed his eyes tightly. Tears running down his cheeks, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sammy…”

“Stop apologizing,” Sam whispered, kissing Tate again, “Let’s just stop. Tate, I love you but if you leave me, I will never forgive you. You made me feel this way, you gave me this blazing heat inside me and I swear to god, if you leave me now, I will hunt you down and make you wish-“

Tate launched forward. His arms wrapping around Sam, pulling him close. The two stumbled back, falling against the door. Sam’s own hands ran along Tate’s body, fingers tangling up into the soft blonde hair he loved so much.

“Do you mean that?” Tate questioned quietly, “Do you really want to be with me?”

“I do. More then anything. I’m tired Tate, so tired. Let’s just be together. Okay?”

“I love you! I love you so much Sammy!”

Sam smiled. He caressed Tate’ cheek, “I love you too.”

An hour later, a high pitched yelp escaped Sam’s lips, his eyes wide and jaw slack. His back was arched, hips pushing out with his knees buckling. His hands hovered, body moving up and down.

Moaning deeply, Sam bites hard on his bottom lip.

“No touching!”

Tate whined. His hands lowering to grab at the sheets underneath them. His pretty brown eyes wide, and pupils blown. Tate gasped, hips arching upward but his movement confined by Sam’s knees.

“Please baby, I want to-to-“

Sam shook his head, smacking Tate’s wondering hands again, “No! No touching! J-Just lay there and let me fuck you!”

The blonde groaned deeply, his head falling backward. His jaw became slack in bliss.

It was so good. Exactly what they needed.

Rolling his hips, Sam braced his hands against Tate’s chest. A flare of lava rushed through him, sweat beginning to drip down his soft skin. Tate kept trying to touch him, but just as his fingers were about to brush along his skin, changed his mind. Sam whined sweetly, and finally lowered himself, kissing the blonde clumsily.

“I love you, I love you so much,” Tate babbled, trying to kiss Sam back as much as possible.

Before long, both were coming undone. Sam laid down on top of Tate, cuddling into his collar bone with Tate wrapping his large and warm arms around him. Both of them twitching, and shivering.

He just wants to be happy. Sam no longer wants to be hurt, to feel pain. Tate, despite what he done, makes Sam feel good. He adores him. Sam loves him, and maybe the best thing is to just let it go. Let all the anger, hatred and stress go, and be happy.

“Let’s just be happy…”

“I can do that.”

~#~#~#~

Skin buzzing, Sam opened his eyes, feeling just good. He hadn’t felt like this in, well, years. His skin prickled with warmth, and his limps ached but in a good way. He blinked until his view cleared, and found himself looking into the perfect slumbering face of the love of his life.

Smiling sweetly, Sam ran his fingers through the unkept blonde hair. What a afterlife he has. He wondered what his living life had been like. Had he ever been in love before? Did he have somebody? Sam couldn’t remember and he just couldn’t bring himself to care, he was glowing. Despite the shadows of the past, Sam was going to look at the future for the rest of his afterlife.

Tate made a sound in his sleep. He snuggled into the pillows, his blonde curls spread across the surface. Sam inched closer to press a kiss against Tate’s forehead. The action made the boy stir, eyes slowly peeling open sleepily, as soon as he saw Sam, he beamed.

“Hello,” Sam said.

“Hi. Are you alright? You’re not hurt, right?”

Sam chuckled, “Doubt you could harm somebody already dead.”

“Sammy…”

“I’m fine,” he hummed, kissing Tate on the nose, “I feel good…I haven’t felt good in a long time…”

Tate wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him in close. He nuzzled his face into Sam’s throat, pressing a bunch of different kisses along Sam’s throat.

“I love you…” he whispered sweetly.

Sam smiled, leaning into Tate’s touch, “I love you too.”

The warm afterglow of their love making was broken by a blood-curling scream. Both shot up in surprise, sharing a look.

“Now what’s happening?”

Tate was quiet. His head slightly turned, listening quietly as more screams filled the air. He turned his head to Sam, nervously biting his bottom lip.

“Come on,” Sam sighed, climbing off the bed, “Let’s go find out what this house is doing now.”

“I’m sorry Sammy.”

Pulling the blue t-shirt over his head, Sam glanced at Tate still on the bed. He smiled warmly, and gestured for Tate to get up.

“Enough apologizes. The past is the past, all we can do now is build a better future.”

“But we’re dead. Do we really have a future?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Sharing another kiss, the two boys fully dressed vanished from the room. They reappeared back in the entry hall, at the top of the staircase and poked their heads over the top rail. Tate held Sam’s hand tightly, it should hurt really but Sam didn’t care. He tried to squeeze the hand comfortingly, but wondered if it really did anything for the blonde.

“What’s going on?”

Sam stared down at the base of the staircase. The screaming was coming from the woman with a large stomach. His eyes widened and jaw dropped.

“I think-I think Vivian’s going into labour!” Sam gasped.

Tate stiffened, “Shouldn’t she go to hospital?”

“Yes! Oh god! There’s blood! Why are they forcing her to give birth here?”

“My mother.”

Turning to Tate, Sam frowned, “What?”

“My mother’s down there,” Tate growled, “She’s behind this. I don’t know what she doing thought…”

Whipping his head back around, Sam gasped. True to Tate’s word, the blonde haired woman was down there. Constance was standing near Ben, and had just slapped the man. Violet was huddled up to Vivian’s other side, gripping her hand tightly as the woman was pushed up onto the table.

“Oh god!” Sam gapped, “Tate! Tate! She’s going to die down there! We can’t let her die! We have to get them to leave!”

Tate swallowed, “How? It’s too late Sammy, I mean look, she’s bleeding down there. It’s already pooling across the table.”

Sam shook. He had tried so hard. Had tried so hard to save them! To save Vivian!

“W-We have to do something!”

“We can’t…”

Tears began to swell up. Sam had to rip his eyes away when Vivian screamed in pure agony. Tate automatically pulled him to his chest, rubbing his back.

“Is this it?” Sam whispered, “Is this what it was like?”

Tate buried his face into Sam’s brown hair, “I’m so sorry. I wanted too. I wanted too so badly, I did. Please believe me.”

“But you couldn’t…could you…”

“By the time I realized you were here with that man…you were too far gone. You were bleeding too much, and he had already began to cut…you know. I couldn’t save you, but I wanted too.”

Sam tightened his arms around Tate. His hands digging into the boy’s sweater, sobbing softly into his embrace. All his efforts gone to waste. It was all for nothing. Was Vivian always meant to die? Had she entered the manor with the target of death on her back already?

“I’m sorry…”

"Mom!" Violet’s voice screeched through the air, “Mom! Mom! Please don’t!”

Ben’s desperate voice followed after, “Vivien! Listen to me, concentrate on my words. We can be happy, honey. Just like we were before. Before my mistakes. Before this house."

Vivien said something that only made the other two cry harder. 

"Hold on, Vivien. Stay with me."

"Don't die. Don't die on me, Vivien. We can still have a life together."

It was all for not. All for nothing as one of the lifes below finally went out.

~#~#~#~

“She had twins?”

Sam gapped in disbelief. He didn’t know it was twins. Vivian had been carrying two babies, not one. Sighing softly, he rested his head against Tate’s shoulder. The two sitting at the bottom of the staircase together, Tate’s arm wrapped around him.

“I think so?” Tate said quietly, “I don’t know really, the nurses won’t tell me much.”

Closing his eyes, Sam hummed softly, “Vivian’s sleeping. I wonder when she’ll wake up.”

“Could be any time. It’s different for everyone.”

“Yeah. Neither Chad or Patrick woke up…they’re still asleep.”

Loud movement was rushing around upstairs. Sam sighed, pressing himself further into Tate’s hold. The blonde pressed a kiss to his temple. Vivian’s body had been taken away within the same day, Ben had been quick to act. He already had Violet upstairs, gathering as much as possible to just leave.

At least it wasn’t the whole family…

“Violet, hurry up!”

“I’m trying!”

Sam flinched. He could hear the watery brokenness in their voices. Violet let out a sob as she followed Ben down the stairs, dragging a suitcase along behind her while Ben held a baby carrier.

Ben didn’t even stop as he rushed past the two.

“Dad, Dad,” Violet called.

Placing the baby carrier down, Ben turned to his daughter, “Violet, not now. We have to leave first. We have to get out of this fucking house! It’s already taken so much from us!”

“No!”

“Violet!”

Violet’s poor face was almost grey, with tears staining her skin. As she shook her head, her short hair flared around her face like snakes, “No! No! I don’t want to go!”

“Violet, we have too!”

Jerking herself out of Ben’s hold, the girl wrapped her arms around herself, “You know about this house! You do, don’t you! You know they’re dead! Those two, Moira, everyone in this damn house is dead! Mom, Mom _died_ here!”

Sam hid his face into Tate’s shoulder. They should leave. They shouldn’t be here, not when the Harmon’s were struggling to…to make it out. To live.

“I know Violet! But we-“

“No!” she shrieked, “Mom died here! So-so she must be here too! If we leave, we’re leaving her all alone and I can’t-“

Ben grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her, “You think your mother would want you to die here? To be trapped in here with her? She wouldn’t! Violet, listen to yourself! You have to live your life for her now!”

The girl sobbed.

Just as Ben was about to speak, something wacked against the back of his head. He stumbled forward, falling against the wall. His eyes were blown wide, hazed like with his mouth slowly opening. He slid down the wall, blood smearing the wall before he grumbled at the floor.

“Dad!” Violet screamed, running to his side, “Dad! Dad! Wake up!”

Dropping the heavy hammer to the ground, the woman walked across the floor. Her high-hills clipping against the ground. Her pony-tail whipping around behind her head as she walked towards the baby carrier.

“You bitch! Why would you do that!”

Lifting the carrier, the woman shrugged, “He took everything from me, little whore! This is my baby now! I gave up everything for him! And look what’s happened to me!”

Who the hell is that?

“Do you know who she is?” he whispered quietly.

Tate shook his head once before pausing, his eyebrows creasing, “…I think…the woman Ben had an affair with…?”

The woman snorted loudly, looking at the two of them briefly, “Aw, aren’t you two cute. Trust me, love doesn’t last. You’ll both leave each other soon enough.”

Violet clenched Ben’s shoulder, shaking him but no luck. She heaved deeply, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks.

“D-Dad…”

“Oh shut up!” the woman yelled, “The bastard got everything coming! Now he can rot in hell for all I care!”

Violet glared watery, “You killed him! He was all I had left!”

“Oh blah-blah-blah!” the woman sneered, “I’m giving you one chance little girl. Leave, go on. Get out.”

The girl blinked slowly, looking back at Ben. She slowly stood up, her eyes turning to stare at the woman, her view lowering to the baby carrier, “Give me my little brother first.”

“No.”

“Give me my brother Hayden!”

Hayden smirked, “No, it’s my baby now. I deserve him. My baby.”

“What? No…” Violet gapped, stepping shakingly towards Hayden, “You…You’re dead, you-you can’t raise him…um…”

Hayden backed away. She pulled the carrier closer to herself, her eyes blazing maddeningly. Sam’s body twitched, wanting to get up and help Violet, but what would Hayden do? What would she do if both Tate and Sam got up to help the girl out? She could hurt the baby, then what?

Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind her. A knife slit her throat, black liquid pouring out from the wound and down her chest. Her eyes grow wide in shock, her mouth opening as if to speak but nothing came out. Her body crumbled, falling in on itself as a man with shaggy black hair snatched the carrier.

“Oh shit…” Hayden mumbled before falling to the ground.

Violet’s eyes grow even wider. Her attention going from Hayden to the man. A man Sam didn’t recognize. This time, both Sam and Tate rushed to their feet. Staring as the man walked past Violet, rudely pushing her aside to hand the baby carrier to another person.

“Mother!”

Head whipping between the woman and Tate, Violet’s jaw dropped, “Mother?”

Constance held the carrier carefully between her arms. She smiled down into the carrier, long fingers jacking the sleeping baby before turning her narrowed eyes up to them. Like a switch, she went from gentle to cold.

“Hello Tate, it seems you’ve made a mess again.”

“Mother, what are you doing?” Tate asked, frowning deeply, “Why do you have the baby?”

Sam gulped. A horrible feeling beginning to sink within him. What was Constance up too? And who was the man at her side? Looking at him, Sam noticed a sadden glit in his eyes. Why were the man so sad?

Constance smiled, “I’m going to take the baby, and raise it. It will be my second chance. To fix the mistakes I made with you and your riffraff siblings! Oh no, I won’t make the same mistakes! This time, my little angel will be perfect!”

Why were there so many people after one baby? Wait, if Vivian had twins, were was the other one?

“You can’t!” Violet cried, “He’s my brother, he’s all I have left! You can’t take him!”

“Hush child,” Constance said quickly, “You are in no state to take care of a little one. To raise a child like this. Look at you, you’re on the edge of death as your parents. What good would you do with a baby?”

Violet whimpered. Her face scrunching up with pain. Her arms wrapped around her middle, head lowering as if she was truly agreeing with Constance.

“You’re wrong!”

Sam bravely stepped forward, “Violet would be a great sister and a mother. She would care for the baby better then you would. You don’t have the right to take him away, he belongs to Violet.”

The girl watery looked at Sam, a meek smile appearing on her lips. She twirled her head back to Constance, her eyes blazing with determination.

“That’s right!” she snapped, “I will take care of him! I’ll raise him the way my parents would want! Give me my brother back!”

Constance stepped back, bringing the baby closer to herself.

“I have as much right to the little one as you! I’m his grandmother!”

Sam froze. His hold body freezing up, “W-What?”

A cold, sickening look appeared on Constance’s face, “That’s right. This baby was creature between the union of living person and a dead person. A special baby. My grandbaby…”

“T-Tate?” Violet’s tiny voice said, “Did…did you rape my mother?”

Tate’s eyes were wide, looking like they were about to fall out. He was stiffened up with his shoulders hunched. Pure hurt on his face. He was staring daggers at Constance.

“Tate, did you?” Sam pressed, “You promised you didn’t, were you lying…again?”

“No!”

“Yes,” Constance spoke over him, “He’s always lying! Always had been! Something wrong with him! I always knew, I never wanted to believe it, no mother wanted to believe their child was a monster.”

Sam shook, pulling away from Tate. It hurt.

“No, no, no,” Tate gasped, reaching for Sam, “I didn’t! I didn’t! I never touched her, I told you!”

“Lies!”

Tate whipped around to his mother, “Why! Why are you always trying to demolish me? Why are you lying? I didn’t touch Vivian! I didn’t do it, it’s not my baby!”

“You’re lying!” Constance hissed, “This has to be your baby, you have to be the father.”

“Why! Why do I have too? Who says I am!”

Constance’s eyes narrowed further, “Because this baby shares the same DNA. I know it does. I was told so.”

“By who?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s my Grandbaby, I’m taking him.”

Violet sobbed, “No! Please! Please don’t!”

“Tate, you promised me. You promised you didn’t…” Sam hiccupped, tears beginning to peek at the corner of his eyes.

Tate tried to grab Sam, “No, no, no. I’m telling the truth, Sammy, I didn’t!”

“If you didn’t, then who did!”

A loud, sudden whistle came from above them. It was high-pitched and easily cut through their panicked voices, silencing the hall affectively. All five of them raised their heads, looking up at the top of the staircase where two people stood. One man, and one woman. The woman held a buddle in her arms, and was gently bouncing it, cooing to it with sparkling eyes.

The man.

Sam knew him. Recognized him. The man was tall with silk blonde hair, and thin skin. He wore a pair suit pants, white dress shirt and tie. Sam turned towards him fully, tilting his head in thought.

The man's eyes. They were dark and haunting. He would never forget those eyes. Never.

“You!” Constance suddenly sneered. It was even more harsher then anything Sam had heard before, “You! What the hell do you want! You should no better then to show your face around here!”

The man smirked slyly, “Or what? You’re gonna shoot me again? Really Constance, I thought we were beyond this.”

“Shut your mouth!”

Sam glanced between the two. They knew eachother? Tate’s face caught his eyes. Something inside him tightened with worry, and pain at the look on his face. An expression Sam hadn’t ever seen before.

“T-Tate? Do you know him?”

Tate slowly nodded, “He’s…he’s my father…”

“Father?” Sam gasped, eyes widening.

The man peered at Tate in amusement, “Hello Tate. Been a long time, huh? Still messed up in the head, I see.”

Tate winced.

“Shut your mouth, Hugo! Don’t talk about him like that!”

“Oh? But it’s alright for you to?” the man laughed, “Wasn’t you just talking slurs a moment ago?”

Constance glared heatedly.

Sam turned to look at the woman at his side. Nora? She was bouncing the buddle, whispering sweetly to it with a warm smile on her face. Her eyes twinkling.

“Oh please Constance. Don’t act like you suddenly care for him. That boy of ours is so thick headed that he can’t even do the basic instructions. I had to complete it for him.”

“Complete it for him? What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean, Constance.”

The woman paused. Her eyes widening, and eyes lowering to the baby carrier. She stared hard at the child, and then let out a shuddering grasp.

“You!”

Hugo laughed, “Well duh. You think Tate has it in him? Hell no. There was no way he could have completed such a simple task. I knew he would eventually whimper out, especially when little Frankenstein over there got involved.”

Sam jerked. Frankenstein? Is that how people saw him? He glanced down at his hands, staring at the thin – white scarring. He supposed he did look sort of like Frankenstein’s monster…as much as it hurt.

“You were going to let us believe Tate did such a dreadful actions?” Constance hissed like a vaper, “Your own son! I knew I should have dragged your ungrateful ass off this property! What was I thinking? Burying you here!”

“You really killed him?” Tate asked brokenly, “You…you told me he ran away with some woman…”

Hugo Langdon, the father of Tate, and his siblings.

Said man cackled, taking such glee in this, “Is that what she told you? Ha! She shot me down!”

“Tate, Tate, you have to understand-“

Tate whipped his head back to his mother, “Understand what? You killed my father, and lied about it. You made me…made Beau and Addy believe he left because of us. That he didn’t love us…”

“He was going to leave anyway!” Constance screeched heatedly, “He was having an affair! An affair with the maid of all people!”

With Moira?

Sam gulped. He looked at Tate, seeing his face cracking. Becoming uncontrollable emotional, his eyes quickly becoming the most reddish he had ever seen. Sam stepped closer to him, debating if he should take Tate’s hand or not.

The poor kid was on the verge of breaking down any second now.

Oh Tate…

Sam generally believed he had…after Tate had sworn to him. Tate had promised. They both had agreed on no more lies between them, no more mind games and would just be real to one another. Tate had sworn up and down. What had Sam done? Broken his trust again!

What’s wrong with him! Why do they keep hurting one another?

“T-Tate…I…”

The blonde shook his head, clenching his eyes shut tightly, “I can’t right now, Sammy…”

Sam flinched. Especially as Tate stepped away from him. He deserved it.

“It didn’t go quite as I thought it would go,” Hugo admitted with a shrug, “I didn’t expect the human to bare two babies, and I certainly didn’t expect mine to survive. But alas here we are. The Harmon’s child dead, and mine blooming.”

Eyes immediately shooting to Nora, Sam bites down on his bottom lip in realization. So that’s what is in the blanket. The other baby. The baby that had died. Oh god. If Vivian did wake up, and Nora refused to hand her, her baby…Sam turned his face away. He couldn’t imagine what the woman would do.

Still, the living baby…a baby conceived between the living and the dead. That was strange, unusual…something wasn’t right. The baby wasn’t right. How could a baby of all things be created between a living woman and a dead man?

Sam stared at the baby carrier. Constance still held it, she was a little more shaky now but she still had a steel grip on it. No matter what, the best thing to happen to the baby is if he stayed with Violet. Violet was the only living relative left.

Despite it all, despite everything going on…Violet had to leave. She had to get out with the baby.

“Constance, you need to give the baby to Violet.”

Constance’s head spun in his direction. Her weary eyes flickering between him and the girl. Even Violet seemed startled at his sudden voice.

“You know as well as I know…the baby needs to be as far from here as possible.”

“Yes, well, I can still-“ Constance began.

Sam shook his head, “No. It needs to be Violet. I know you want to-to make up for the errors of the past but, you can’t do that with a baby that’s not yours. He has to go with Violet, Violet’s the only person who can help him, protect him and lead him down the correct path.”

Constance was silent. She stepped back, brining the carrier with her. Many different emotions flickering across her face, her eyebrows creasing and lips becoming crooked.

“Please,” Violet inhaled sharply, nervously walking forward with her twitchy hands stretched out, “Please, he’s my little brother and…and I’ve already lost my Mom and Dad, don’t take my brother too…”

Even then, Constance seemed to be struggling. Her hands tightened so much around the handle of the carrier until her knuckles white. She sent the pair of them a pointed look before her attention was taken by the little child, a soft coo came from the slumbering baby.

“No, I…”

Constance backed away further. Seeming to have choice the opposite decision to the one Sam was hoping for.

“Mother…”

The woman froze. Her eyes widening and wearily turned to her son, “Tate?”

“You can’t keep him,” Tate spoke watery, stepping past both Sam and Violet, “You can’t. He’s not yours…”

“Tate, he is my second chance. You understand that?”

“Second chance?” Tate frowned, “Mother, listen to yourself. Sure, we all know you made mistakes but…but the bad things that happened to us, isn’t all your fault. Like-like when I shot up my high school…”

“That was nobody’s fault but my own. I made a choice that gravely ruined mine, and many other people’s lifes. There’s nothing I can do to make up for it, I can’t take back what I did…sure, this house might have added to-to my illness and pushed me to commit it, but at the end of the day…it was still my hands that held the guns.”

For the first time ever, Constance’s eyes watered.

“I can never make up for that. Never. And I deserve all the pain, and hatred that comes my way. No matter what anybody says, or tries to do. I have to own up to it, it’s my responsibility and next Halloween, I can apologize to them…thought that alone will never be enough. Nothing I can do will ever be enough. Even if this house is cleansed and the evil here is gone, I still had committed those awful acts.”

Sam stared at Tate. He had never heard Tate speak like that before. His voice was filled with something that made Sam’s chest hurt. He wanted to hug Tate, but knew Tate had to get it out. Had to say his part.

“Being here, being trapped in here…is my punishment. Only god can forgive me truly, and I will wait. I will wait for an eternity if I have too. But my first step for earning that forgiveness is stopping this.”

Constance sniffled, “Tate, I failed you. I failed all of you. You, Beau, Rosy…I’m still failing Abby. All my babies needed me and I couldn’t protect them.”

“It’s time to let it go,” Tate said, “You have to move on. You can’t keep circling the house like a Shark. You still have Abby…be a better Mother for her, and find a new place. A new place to be happy…”

“I want you to finally find real happiness.”

Eyes widening in shock, Constance had to turn her face away. She covered her tired face with her hand, fingers pressing into the skin.

Tate stretched his arms out, looking as calm as ever. He carefully slid his fingers underneath the handle, and pulled it free from Constance’s grip. Immediately Constance crossed her arms tightly, hunching her shoulders but kept her face hidden. Tate gazed at her, walking backward and when he was sure, Constance wasn’t going to dive for the carrier – he looked down at the sleeping baby.

Inhaling sharply, Tate turned around to face Violet. His hands finally trembled as he passed the carrier over to the girl.

“I’m so sorry Violet. I’m sorry for everything you and your family had to go through.”

Violet smiled weakly in return, “I know…I know both you and Sam have been trying to help me but I was just too stubborn to listen…”

“Thank you…”

Sam bowed his head, “Violet, leave and never turn back. Never look back at this stupid manor again. You’ll to fine.”

The girl nodded her head. She held her head high, and carefully draw the carrier closer to herself. She inched slowly at first, walking nervously past Constance. The woman didn’t try to stop her. Her body glowed, high-lighted by the sunshine outside. Within seconds she disappeared out the front.

As Violet walked down the stone steps. Blood rushing through her ears, her eyes wide and staring blankly ahead of herself. A powerful gush of wind blow across the garden, pulling at her hair and whipping it around.

As she stepped out the front gate, onto the walkway outside the manor. Violet finally stopped. She breathed sharply, stressfully. She turned her head to look back at the manor, seeing many faces staring back at from the windows.

The Murder House held so much, and so little at the same time. The spirits that were trapped there gazed back at her.

With one lost withering stare, Violet walked away. Her pathway highlighted by the sun itself.

~#~#~#~

Tate disappeared.

Sam sighed to himself. He sat at the bottom of the staircase, with his elbows prompted up onto his knees. After the massive confrontation last week, Tate vanished into thin air and no matter what Sam did, he couldn’t find the boy. He couldn’t lure him or anything.

Tate’s words kept echoing through his head.

Eyes sliding shut, Sam tilted his head. There was just so much. Tate’s eyes were truly open this time, to all the darkness of his past, to the house…he wondered if Constance really would listen to his words. Would she move away with Addy? Where would she go? Despite it all, Sam had a feeling Constance would never really give up her hopes of owning the house again.

Not when her family was still trapped inside.

Everything had been strangely calm. Sam supposed it must be because there was no living person inside. It was only a matter of time before a new family moves in. Sam often wondered how Violet was doing now, he hoped she had found someway to survive out there with a baby to look after now.

They had done the right thing…he’s sure Ben and Vivian would be so proud of her.

Nora’s been gliding back and forth through the manor. Still holding the spirit of the baby that had passed away. It was only a matter of time before the baby’s parents woke up and tried to regain their child. If they woke up that is, Chad and Patrick was still sleep.

More often then not, Sam found himself alone. Moira wasn’t around now that she wasn’t needed, Sam wasn’t sure what she did. The only other spirits he saw was Margaret and Angela, playing games around the manor before the two grow tired of it and disappeared.

Sam had seen the twin boys playing pretend baseball in the garden a few times. The couple times Sam tried to approach them, they mocked him and called him Frankenstein’s monster. He gave up after that, cause it hurt.

Not even Beau came to see him, but Sam had an inkling Beau was with Tate. The two brothers were trying to deal with the fact their father was a horrible person and caused a lot of the misfortunes of their lives. Their father was in the house too…somewhere.

Breaking out of his depressing thoughts, Sam raised his head when the front doors of the manor opened and a stream of sunlight lit up the dark entry hall. Squinting his eyes, Sam watched as a feminine figure enter the manor.

“Samuel?”

“Miss Billie?” Sam gasped, pushing himself to his feet, “I…what are you doing here? Um, I mean…”

The beautiful young blonde smiled at him, “Hmm. This house certainly holds a lot of emotion. I can feel it. Oh my. So many overwhelmed spirits is here.”

Sam sheepishly looked down, “Um…a lot happened last week. I guess everyone is still wheeling from it all.”

“I can see,” Billie nodded, “I knew something had happened. Constance and Addy turned up on my doorstep late last Wednesday. The poor old bird was besides herself, couldn’t make sense of her words or anything.”

Blinking once, Sam gapped. So Constance really did leave?

“She’ll be back.”

Sam laughed quietly, “You think so? Tate had some…sad words to say.”

“Hm, that poor boy. Being tormented in so many ways.”

That’s one way of describing it. 

“How are you holding up, Hun?” Billie asked, reaching out to take Sam’s hand, “I can sense some difficult horrors in you too.”

Sam smiled pitifully, “I’m doing alright actually. Better then I have been in a long time…it’s strange. Now there’s nobody living here, the house is…”

“Calm? Yes. Now there’s nothing tempting the darkness of the Murder House, it’s settled into a sort of hibernation state.”

Hibernation state?

“Wouldn’t you being here disturb that?”

“As long as I stay on the outline, I’ll be fine. However, I didn’t come here just to talk, I brought somebody with me. They refuse to come inside, for good reason, but they’ve agreed to wait outside in the garden.”

Eyebrows crawling higher and higher up his forehead, Sam pinched his lips together in thought. Who would Billie have brought? The way Billie spoke made him wonder if this person was important. But how important was them?

“Who?”

Billie smiled warmly, carefully laying an arm around his shoulders. She edged them towards the doors, her head clocking to the side.

“Come outside and see.”

Swallowing the mouthful of words, Sam could only nod. He allowed Billie to guide him up to the door. The sunlight hitting him straight in the face, it kind of burned honestly. Sam hadn’t stepped outside the house in sometime, other then bravely adventuring outside to meet the twins…Sam really avoided going outside.

The light blinded him. He had to cover his eyes as they walked through the doorway, he paused still on the porch. Sam’s eyebrows creasing, and a tremor like no other ran through him. The burning, bright light simmered through his vision, and a calming tension painted him.

His breath became trapped in throat and he didn’t understand.

A woman stood near the front gates. She wasn’t very tall, but she wore prim clothing. However, despite the outfit was prim, it was also very comfortable looking. A oversized, light blue sweater hanged on her thin body with perfect black dress pants. She had a long chain round her neck that glittered from the sunlight. Her thin curls framed her face, light blonde in colour with an almost chocolaty brown undertone.

As she turned around, Sam swore for a second her hair was a rich syrup colour.

“Miss Winters.”

His eyes flooded with salty water. Sam hiccupped painfully, stumbling forward. The woman’s face. It was so familiar, so very…why was he suddenly crying? Why was there so many tears? Why did he feel like he was beginning to crumble all of a sudden?

Who is this woman!

Turning fully around, the woman’s familiar brown eyes widening in shock. A hand covering her mouth as she took in Sam, her eyes running up and down his form.

“H-How…how is he…?”

Her voice. It was broken, and filled with sadness but shock. It made Sam’s insides jerk.

“I’m dead.”

The woman gasped, “Oh honey…”

“I’m a ghost, Miss. I don’t…I don’t understand…” Sam spoke, turning to look at Billie, “Who…who is this person?”

Billie smiled sweetly, “Who do you think she is? Really look at her Sam. Have a real look, you know who she is.”

Does he? Does he really do?

Sam nervously looked back at the woman, watching as she stepped closer. A hopeful twinkle in her dark eyes, she lowered her hand from her mouth and stretched both of her hands out. Sam glanced at them, and wrapped his shaky hands around them.

It was immediate. It sent an electric thunder through him, tears running down his cheeks freely.

He knew her.

Sam really knew her. Would always know her. She was one of the most important people in his life.

She was everything.

In the Murder House, she was the one person Sam wished for more then anything.

“Y-You…”

“Sammy.”

Her voice ripped through him. Breaking everything inside him in half, suddenly Sam remembered. He remembered everything. All the small broken bridges in his head were repaired. All the pathways opened back up. Zipping back and forth, he remembered everything!

Sam knew who he was suddenly.

“Lana bo Bana Banana fanna fo Fana.”

The woman let out a hearty laugh, “You remember that? I used to sing it to you when you were little, whenever you had a nightmare. Your godmother sang it when you were a baby too.”

“Lana, Lana bo Bana Banana fanna fo Fana

Fee fy mo Mana, Lana!”

Sam’s face scrunched up, ruby redness beginning to burn in the middle of Sam’s face, spreading across his face. It licked up his temples, and make his ears flushed red. He clenched her hands tightly, suddenly finding it difficult to breath.

“Mum!”

“It’s alright baby. I’m so proud of you.”

Lana held him tightly, rubbing him on the shoulders and kissing him on top of the head. Her eyes waters as Sam cried, his arms wrapping around her middle.

“I’m so sorry, Mum. I failed, I didn’t do what you taught me to do!”

There was so much Sam wanted to say. He so stupid. So very stupid. His Mum had told him over and over again to always be safe, to never trust strangers, to never walk home! And what did he do? He did everything she taught him not too! He tried to walk home late at night from the library! Had trusted a random stranger! And didn’t be safe at all!

He had died because of his sheer stupidity!

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t listen to you!”

“No-no, it’s not your fault,” Lana whispered, “It was never your fault, honey. You’re so tough, but are no cookie. You’re strong, baby.”

Sam shook his head, “No I’m not. I’m really not Mum. I screwed up so much!”

“It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.”

Hiccupping, gasping, it was just so ugly. Horrible, earth-shattering. Snotty, and teary. Sam couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop sobbing. He clung to his mother. His mother! She was seriously there!

“I’ve been so scattered brain! First I was empty and then scattered! But now-now-“

“Shh. It’s alright baby. It’s alright honey.”

But was it? Was it really alright? Would it ever be alright? He’s dead! He was murdered in this damn house! Was trapped there, and could never leave! Lana was alive, and by herself now.

Eventually Sam settled down. His face was reddish, eyes swollen and he couldn’t stop sniffling. He sat on the porch with his mother, their knees lightly touching. The two were so similar to one another that even sitting they were reflecting each other.

“I can’t believe you’re here…”

Lana smiled, “I’ve wanted to see you for so long. I thought I would never get to see you again.”

“It took a little convincing,” Billie nodded her head, “Mrs Winters-“

“Oh please, call me Lana.”

Billies smiled at the older woman, “Lana was very sceptical.”

“With good reason,” Lana sighed, “Oh Sammy. I had so many people approach me about you. Mediums and fortune tellers, all telling me they were contacting you beyond the grave. I had been burned to many times…and admittingly I thought Miss Billie here to be fall of it too…”

Sam smiled, chuckling softly. Miss Billie.

“I’m glad I decided to trust her…”

“I don’t blame you either,” Billie said, “I wouldn’t believe me either if I was you. After such a horrendous crime…I would have thrown me out the moment I stepped into your office.”

Lana hummed, “I can’t explain it. I just knew to trust you, and I’m glad I did. Oh Sammy, my Sammy…”

“Mum…I have so much to say, but I can’t seem to figure out the words to use. I-I…I’m so…”

“Shh, it’s alright baby,” Lana said, “I understand. Take your time, and breath Sammy.”

Sam swallowed. He lowered his head, he had never felt so happy before. He wished he could stay with his mother for ever.

“I want-I want to know everything. About you, about my father, and-and me? Miss Billie said she saw a man use name begins with a K, and that I was named after somebody.”

Lana blinked at the sudden hurry of words. She glanced up at Billie briefly in thought. She finally sighed, pushing a loose thick hair out of her face.

“It’s a very long story, very complicated. You were named after my baby brother.”

“My uncle? He died?”

His mother nodded, her eyes twinkling sadly, “That’s right. You are very like him, he…he was caught kissing his boyfriend…ah, it was a very different time back then. The world was different. I’m much older to back then, I was a fresh journalist trying to find my first big scoop and unfortunately, my little brother was caught up in something much bigger.”

“Sam…once he was caught kissing his boyfriend…being gay was just wrong back then. It was considered to be a disease, an illness, and the people who caught him…had him sent to a place. An awful place. Briarcliff.”

Sam gulped, “Briarcliff, that’s…an old hospital, isn’t it?”

“It’s worse then a hospital. An insane asylum, it’s shut down now but back then it was the hunting ground for pure darkness. A lot of innocent people were dragged into that place, and never was allowed back out again,” Lana explained, her voice becoming dark, “I thought I could save Sam, I thought I could find a way to shut the place down and get my scoop…it didn’t go that way.”

Lana shook her head, her eyes closing as a shadow crossed her face. Her fingers held Sam’s hands stiffly, “A lot of awful things happened to us there. We both were forced under electroshock therapy, we both were tough, and no cookies…or that’s what I thought. Sam was good at hiding things, the therapy was taking a strong toll on him…”

“I will never know how awful it was for him. I…I failed at a big sister, unlike myself who was put under electroshock therapy twice, Sam was subjected to it way more than anybody should be.”

Sam flinched. A throbbing pain ran through his head, as if he could feeling a mild version of what his uncle had to deal with.

“D-Did he die in there?”

A painful pinch appeared across Lana’s face. Her eyes becoming misty.

“He did. He died in my arms…it was just sudden. The electroshock therapy had damaged his brain so much, that it swell. Sam hid it to the end until he began to bleed…and soon died in my arms. I tried to get save him, but it was too late…the next day, I was able to escape Briarcliff.”

Shivering, Sam sniffled, “I’m sorry Mum.”

“Don’t be,” Lana smiled, cupping his face with a gentle hand, “He’ll be so proud of you, you know. He would love you so much. I’m so sure he would have doted on you, probably spoil you too. I was rather strike when you were growing up, I had this silly rule in my head…about sugar, I didn’t let you have any ice-cream, cake or sweets unless it was a Friday. Our movie night…”

“I bet Sam would have snuck you so many junk food…”

Sam’s lips twitched. His eyes becoming misty with tears once again, his brain turning as he suddenly was overwhelmed with memories of the past. Memories of him and his Mum cuddling up together underneath a thick fluffy blanket with so much junk food. They even had takeout, something Lana was very against.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Lana hummed wistfully, “He met Kit.”

“Kit?”

“Kit Walker. He was such a lovely man, a kind and sweet soul. Sam and Kit just kind of, well, drawn together I suppose. At first I was very weary, Kit was in Briarcliff because people believed he was the ‘Bloody Face’ serial killer…his wife, Alma, was found murdered…” Lana hissed, her eyes narrowing with something swirling behind her eyes, “He was framed. I didn’t realize this until much later, but I gave him a chance after I saw how much he loved Sam.”

Sam tilted his head thoughtfully, “They were gay?”

“It runs in the family,” Lana joked, “Sam, me, you…Kit, yeah. Well, Kit was bisexual, I believe he’s never felt that way for a man until he met Sam…he was so heartbroken when he found out about Sam’s death. He wasn’t there when Sam died…I’ll never forget the look on his face…it was such a stressful time for us all…”

“Kit eventually passed away from cancer years later, but before then we came to a agreement. I became the godmother of his two children. He knew I wanted a baby, my own baby and nobody else’s…he agreed to be sperm doner…”

Sam frowned, “But I thought I had three siblings?”

“No, you have two. You have older siblings, a brother and a sister, named Thomas and Julia.”

“But-“

Lana’s face became sour, “It’s true, I had another child. He…it’s hard for me to explain. The real ‘Bloody face’ serial killer was hiding at Briarcliff as a therapist. Thought he could cure from my sexurality,” she snorted and rolled her eyes, “He was an evil man. A awful man, and his son was no different. I couldn’t bare to keep the child that man forced upon me, so I thought it would be mercy if I put him up for adoption…later he tried to finish his father’s work.”

Sam winced, turning away. He didn’t want to hear anymore, and Lana understood that. The knowledge overload was overwhelming to the point of dizziness.

“I’m sorry Mum…”

Lana hugged him tightly, “It’s alright baby. You have nothing to apolgoize for. Nothing at all.”

“I-I love you Mum…”

“I love you too, so much.”

Sniffling deeply, Sam rubbed the sleeve of his sweater across his face. He smiled widely up at his beloved mother.

“How long have you been here?”

Sam glanced up at the Murder House, “Um, about two years I think?”

“Two years?” Lana gasped, “Oh baby…”

“It wasn’t that bad Mum. Some of the other spirits here helped me, and I met someone amazing.”

Lana’s eyes twinkled in amusement, “You fell in love?”

“Yeah…he’s a complicated guy.”

“Ah, I know what that’s like. A complicated guy, girl, anything in between.”

Sam smiled pitifully, “No, Mum…like Briarcliff, this house is…is evil too. There’s a darkness inside here that feeds on everyone, messes with peoples heads and force the living to commit unspeakable acts. There are many hurting, and confused spirits here who just can’t get their heads around the horrendous act they committed in life…there’s a woman here who burned herself and her two girls alive…there’s a couple here whose child was dismembered and the Dad tried to stitch him back together, creating a creature like no other…and then there’s Tate…”

“Tate is beyond confused, and always in pain. This house…it feeds on all of them, especially Tate. He committed a High School shooting, and then encouraged the police to shoot him down. There’s angry people in there, who walk around in a daze. There’s a man whose wife shoot him for having an affair, another woman who committed suicide.”

Lana was stunned into silence. Her eyes stared up at the Murder House.

“It’s actually a lot quitter now,” Billie suddenly said, “I’m not sure why, but the blazing anger I normally feel isn’t there.”

Sam gulped, a chill running up his spine. Why would that be?

“Has something happened recently?”

“…I was able to save the girl that lived here?”

“The Harmon’s daughter?”

Sam nodded, “She…the manor had killed both her mother and father, she was the last survivor. Tate and I, we were able to save her before she could die too…oh, her and her younger brother…”

“Her brother?”

“I think Violet wanted to name him Michael?”

Billie’s eyes snapped back to Sam, “What is it?”

“Michael, he wasn’t…wasn’t born normally. I mean, he was conceived between Vivian and Hugo…Hugo is Tate’s father, and the man’s dead. Constance shot him.”

Billie’s face darkened, “She knew! That-that! Ugh! After I warned her too! I should have known she was up to something!”

“What is it?” Lana asked worriedly, “What’s wrong?”

"The Holy Ghost merely whispered in the Virgin Mary's ear and she begat the son of God. If the Devil's going to use a human womb for his spawn, he's going to want a little more bang for his buck."

The two Winters stared at the young woman in confusion.

Billie pulled out a cigarette from her purse, lighting it with a stressful sigh, "When a new Pope has been chosen, and the bells of St. Peter's chime, he is shown into a small chamber next to the Sistine Chapel. They call it 'The Room of Tears,' named for the sublime mixture of joy and sorrow that he must contemplate at this moment. He is brought a key to this box. It has been said that this box contains the ultimate secret. It holds the secret of the end of the world . . . This piece of paper reveals the precise nature of the Antichrist: a child born of human and spirit will usher in the End of Times. It is the essence of evil. A perversion of the Immaculate Conception."

Lana’s eyebrows creased, “Are…are you trying to claim this young child is the Antichrist?”

“I’m not claiming. I know so.”

Sam frowned, “No, that can’t be…I mean, Michael’s just a baby…”

“A baby for now.”

“So what do you propose we do then?”

“Samuel, do you know where Violet is?” Billie asked.

Sam mutely shook his head. He wasn’t lying either. He had no idea where Violet went. Even now, he couldn’t help but feel he still did the right thing. Violet taking the baby was the best possible option.

“…Violet will take him down the correct path.”

Billie eyed Sam with a single pretty eye, “Time will only tell, laddie. Time will only tell.”

He doesn’t reply to that, instead Sam crushed his lips together. He tilted his head away, eyes running across the manor’s garden. He smiled meekly, watching people walk past. A few of them peering over to them, probably wondering why there were two woman outside the Murder House.

Or maybe they’ve noticed the famous Lana Winters.

“Sammy, why are you still here?”

Inhaling sharply, Sam turned back to his mother, “Um…I can’t. I-I can’t leave Mum…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trapped here.”

Lana’s eyes widened, “What? How are you trapped here? Is there anything we can do?”

“I’m afraid not,” Billie said, “I’ve been doing everything I can think off. I can’t seem to breach the barrier of the house.”

Sam chewed his bottom lip, “…If you die in the house, your spirit is bound to the property.”

“Oh my god. Sammy…”

“It’s alright Mum. I’m alright.”

~#~#~#~

He was buzzing.

The house truly did feel lighter then normally. Brighter even. The sunlight easily streamed through the windows this time.

Was what Billie said true? Was young Michael really the Antichrist? Sam’s sure Violet will help Michael. But would she be able to handle him? He hoped so.

Sam had to much faith in the girl…

For the very first time ever, Sam wasn’t empty or scattered. He was hole. His mind was finally clued back together, everything was in the right place. Sam remembered everything, knew everything about himself, about his past.

He knew who his mother was!

Maybe his afterlife will finally begin to get better.

"Judy!

Judy, Judy bo Budy Banana fanna fo Fudy

Fee fy mo Mudy, Judy!

Lana!

Lana, Lana bo Bana Banana fanna fo Fana

Fee fy mo Mana, Lana!

Come on everybody!

I say now let's play a game

I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name

The first letter of the name, I treat it like it wasn't there

But a B or an F or an M will appear

And then I say bo add a B then I say the name and

Banana fanna and a fo

And then I say the name again with an F very plain and a

Fee fy and a mo

And then I say the name again with an M this time

And there isn't any name that I can't rhyme

Pepper!

Pepper, Pepper bo Bepper Banana fanna fo Fepper

Fee fy mo Mepper, Pepper!

But if the first two letters are ever the same

I drop them both and say the name

Like Bob, Bob drop the B's Bo ob

For Fred, Fred drop the F's Fo red

For Mary, Mary drop the M's Mo ary

That's the only rule that is contrary

Okay?

Now say Bo (Bo)

Now Tony with a B (Bony)

Then Banana fanna fo (banana fanna fo)

Then you say the name again with an F very plain (Fony)

Then a fee fy and a mo (fee fy mo)

Then you say the name again with an M this time (Mony)

And there isn't any name that you can't rhyme

Kit!

Kit, Kit bo Bit Banana fanna fo Fit

Fee fy mo Mit, Kit!"

The End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! i hope it was good! i love sam!  
> i hope you like my twist with hugo, and violet! i love it so much!  
> who was expecting lana to be sam's mother? ahhhh!
> 
> i'm super excited to start coven! whooooooo! i will most likely write something for aslyum! with kit and sam.


End file.
